


Past Tensions

by procrastinationfairy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer, Minor Derek "Nursey" Nurse/WIlliam "Dex" Poindexter, Minor Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Minor Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinationfairy/pseuds/procrastinationfairy
Summary: Graduating from Class 22-A, Kent Parson knows he has no future as a superhero. That was destroyed with the Tater supposedly captured his ancestor, disgraced superhero Nobody, robbing Samwell Laboratories. But with no interest in other job prospects, Kent decides on a simple plan: He'll travel back to the past. He'll prove the Tater was the real criminal. He'll save his family's reputation and become a successful superhero in his own right.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39
Collections: Going Out With A Big Bang 2020





	1. Issue #1: Future Tense

**Author's Note:**

> It seems fitting to say goodbye to this comic with a fic inspired by other comics. (I'm not actually saying goodbye. I'm still obsessed. I'm not crying about the ending.) As you can tell by my tumblr (@spideylovesgwendy), I love superhero comics, and there's a lot to be said about the media. While this is a serious fic, there's also some tongue-in-cheek jokes about superhero comics which shouldn't matter if you don't get them and should be fun if you do! This fic was more involved than I anticipated, and my beta and I tried very, very hard to smooth out any wrinkles, but if you see any errors, that's a comic book reference. They always make errors. It's only fitting that I do too.
> 
> My partner for this bang is SexyDexyNurse, and you can check out their art here https://sexydexynurse.tumblr.com/post/615485288435810304/i-was-lucky-to-work-with-spideylovesgwendy-for. (It's beautiful, guys! You'll enjoy.) ((I also should pre-thank them for being so patient with me while I was writing this fic. It was slow-going because of school. But they still churned out some great artwork!))

Most people loved the Museum of Superheroics. The Las Vegas branch had a great variety of exhibits of many superheroes from around the United States of America circa the twenty-first century, though their berth of other eras was sadly lacking. Kent would have liked the local museum to have offered any other era of superheroes. Perhaps it was mere boredom with returning to the museum that he had visited each year for the first twenty-two years of his life. There was only so much you could learn about each superhero, especially when they’d been dead for centuries. 

_“Captain Canada was well-known for creating the first international superhero team,”_ the exhibit read, the blue light of its hologram lighting up the fifteen faces of Class 22-A. They were the smallest class in Vegas, for two reasons. 

_“The Beaver and the Eagle were clear choices to join this team, as one of the early international superhero partnerships. They based themselves around the border to tag-team defend the area.”_

First, very few students finished up to Class 22, as there were plenty of occupations available with Class 18 certification. 

_“Sharkman first emerged as the protector of the San Francisco Bay. When invited to join the team, he was reluctant, as he had developed a fondness for the area.”_

Second, Class 22-A consisted of only students who scored in the 99th percentile in at least one subject, and in addition to that, strenuous interviews were required each year to remain in an A-level class. While Class 22 was needed for many occupations, most wanted only Class 22-H certification from urban areas. Very few students found it worth the trouble. 

_“During her lifetime, very few saw the Shade. While many criminals spoke of her, they could give no description other than the sheer terror she left. Surprisingly, she offered her services to the team.”_

Class 22-A certification was required to become a superhero, and this was why their tour through the Museum of Superheroics was more extensive this year. Kent knew this a little too well. He had a few classmates who were prepared to offer their services to the Union. 

_“The Tater was the first superhero to join the team from outside of North America, though he established himself as a permanent resident of the Rhode Island area after his enrollment.”_

That was one career that was unavailable to Kent, even with Class 22-A certification.

_“Though Nobody was a respected hero during his days as protector of Rochester, New York, once he joined the team, he showed his true colors.”_

Automatically, fourteen pairs of eyes flickered to Kent. He ignored them. Jeff patted his back, and he shrugged it off. No need to draw extra attention. He wondered how Sophie handled it when Class 14-C visited the Museum of Superheroics. Did they stare at her as well?

_“The Tater intercepted Nobody’s robbery of Samwell Laboratories in Samwell, Massachusetts, resulting in the first arrest of a superhero. This initial incident sparked the first movement for public identities of superheroes, though this movement fell apart soon after. However, Nobody was unmasked during his trial as Judas Parson—”_

Kent not-so-discreetly slid his foot across the holopanel. The voice faltered for a moment. 

“Kent!” one of his classmates hissed. He ignored them.

“Come on,” Jeff said. “It’s not like we don’t know this stuff already.”

“Maybe,” Lyra said, “but some of us care. Some of us are aiming to test into superheroics.”

“And I’m sure learning about a twenty-first-century superhero will help that,” Kent said. 

Lyra rolled their eyes. “Learning every detail of this history is important. It’s part of the exam. I know you can’t take it, Kent, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kent shrugged. He walked away from his class towards the next exhibit. “But everyone knows the twenty-second century was more important. Foundation of the Union and shit.”

_“Mr. Parson—”_ the exhibit’s hologram guide intervened. 

Kent ignored whatever demerit he was awarded. There was little they could do to him 4 days before graduation. He paused in front of the next exhibit, though he hardly paid any attention. Jeff sidled up beside him a few minutes later. 

“So.”

Kent looked up. “So?”

“So, have you decided yet?” Jeff prodded.

Kent rolled his eyes. Jeff had decided to test for two careers by the time he’d reached Class 15. After a few low exam scores in superheroics, he’d let go of his dream of being Troy, the next great superhero. Instead, he had plans to work in a laboratory, designing the newest superheroics equipment. 

“I’ve got time,” Kent shrugged. 

Jeff’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Four days.”

“That’s time.”

Jeff glanced back to the rest of the class, still standing at the previous exhibit, discussing everything the exhibit had to say about Jude Parson. “I know it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Kent asked. He stretched an arm out to touch the replica of the Muse’s spear. 

Jeff softened. “Kent, I know how much you used to dream about this.”

About this. Being a superhero. Kent turned around. The Museum was, as always, covered in thousands of artifacts, pieces of costumes, weapons, rubble from momentous battles. It made him feel a little sick. 

“I can’t be a superhero. So what? It’s not the only career,” Kent said. He walked to another exhibit. The remains of a time machine from the temporal anomaly of 2159. Scientists at Samwell had studied it for over a century, trying to determine how it worked. They’d finally decided it was futile fifty years before and donated it to the museum. Kent knew there had to be a trick to getting it to work. He wondered if he could petition for an opportunity to work in a laboratory. It wouldn’t be superheroics, but he imagined someone would have an objection to his family doing even that. But if he argued his case right, maybe he could swing it. Maybe he’d even get assigned to the same lab as Jeff. 

“It’s not,” Jeff said gently. “So… why don’t we ditch?”

Kent glanced over to Jeff, wondering if his best friend was real. He never suggested ditching, especially not with both of them being so close to graduating. “Frozen fruit stand?” he suggested. Jeff flashed a grin, and they both ran to the nearest exit.

* * *

“I heard you didn’t finish the tour of the Museum.”

Kent didn’t look up at his mother as he took a seat at the dinner table. He wasn’t especially hungry after stopping for frozen fruit with Jeff, but that was fine. His mother had made squashloaf. Kent hated squashloaf. He hated whenever it was his mother’s turn to cook. His stepfather sat on one end of the table, still working on his tablet, and Sophie had her seat opposite his. He stuck his tongue out at her. She made her hand invisible as she stole his spoon.

“I can still see the spoon,” he said. 

Sophie huffed and set it down next to her spoon. “Not fair. I wish I could make other things invisible.” 

Kent kicked her underneath the table and focused until he could turn his own hand invisible, snatching his spoon back.

“Not at the table,” Robert said, flipping to a new screen.

“No tablets at the table,” Lena Parson replied. One of the serving trays lowered the squashloaf onto the table and began to serve it in perfect portions. Kent fiddled with his ID to adjust his portion for the frozen fruit he’d bought. “And you, young man—no answer?”

“What’s there to say?” he said. He relaxed when he saw how small the slice of squashloaf he had to eat was. 

“You ditched school,” Lena said evenly. She sat down across from him and waited for something more. Sophie raised a brow.

Kent scoffed. “It was just the Museum. Same thing every year, totally irrelevant to me.” He took a stab at the squashloaf with his fork and jabbed straight into the plate. 

“Kent’s right,” Sophie said. “It doesn’t _matter_. I hate going. I wish I didn’t have to go every year.”

Kent tapped his foot against hers in thanks for the support. “Besides, I’m about to graduate. What does ditching matter?”

“Twenty-three demerits.”

Kent froze. Robert looked up from his tablet and finally pushed it away. Sophie shoved her fork in her mouth and looked away. 

“Twenty-three demerits, Kent,” Lena repeated. “That’s how many you have. And you know what happens at twenty-five—”

“I know, I know! A tribunal, a decision about whether to cut my certification down a level or to even certify me at all,” Kent interjected. He’d heard rants about this far too often. He was always careful. He’d never get to twenty-five. He only had four days until graduation. It wasn’t a big deal. 

“Exactly! You could lose your shot at a good career!” Lena said. 

The table iced over. Kent took a sip of his water. 

“You’re smart, Kenny,” she tried again, voice softer now. “You know you have a real shot.”

“I know. A real shot at being anything but a superhero.”

Robert sat up and leaned to place his hand on Kent’s. “You don’t have to be a superhero—”

“But I should be!” Kent knew his outburst had stunned his family, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He took a quick bite of squashloaf and stood. “I have a great power. And the athletic aptitude. Every test says that’s my _ideal_ career. And I can’t because—”

Sophie was staring at him with her dark brown eyes. Kent looked away. 

“We can’t change what our ancestors have done,” Lena said, neutrally, the way she always spoke about it. Kent knew the truth. It was easier to ignore it than to admit their lives had been ruined by a mistake. “No one can. But we can avoid their mistakes. And no matter what we may think of the law, it prevents us from repeating history.”

Kent huffed.

Robert tried to smile. “It’s true. My grandmother was a surgeon. She grew sloppy with her surgeries. Now, no one in my line can be a surgeon. But that’s alright. It’s… It’s the way it is.”

_It isn’t fair_. It was something they all knew, but something they never discussed.

“I’m going to bed,” Kent said. 

“It’s early,” Lena said. 

“I’ll do my homework.” Kent headed up the stairs, glad for the soundproofing of modern houses. He needed the peace. Narrowly avoiding slamming his bedroom door, he flopped down on his bed and reached for his tablet. He had plenty of homework, wrapping up the last of their lessons before their final tests. Calculus. Organic chemistry. Accounting too. Kent liked accounting. 

He could be an accountant, maybe—though that field had a lot of programming too, and Kent hated programming. He’d hate being an accountant.

Kent would hate any career he chose. 

After a moment, he thumbed through his tablet and opened up the Museum of Superheroic’s website. It had sections for each era. In the early eras, humanity had a vastly different view of adulthood. It was hard to believe that there were superheroes who had debuted at a younger age than he was now. They were barely adults, even by previous standards. Jude Parson had debuted at twenty-three. 

Things must have been very different back then. Anyone could throw on a mask, and if they had powers, they could be a superhero. No one would even know. These early superheroes led two lives: as a hero, behind a mask, and as a civilian, with names and faces no one knew. Some were now lost to the ages. Even some of the most well-known early heroes lacked many pictures of their true identities. 

It would have been easy to do, to become a superhero without anyone knowing.

Kent stared at the screen for a long moment. He clicked on the page for twenty-first-century teams. He clicked on the Falconers. 

The roster had included many other heroes over the years, outside of the core team. So many of them lacked pictures, and the article noted that some heroes’ names had been lost as well. Kent scrolled to Jude Parson’s biography. 

_Nobody._

He closed the webpage and opened his homework. It needed to be finished if he had a chance of getting back to the Museum.

* * *

The plan was simple. Kent explained to his regular professor that he wanted to finish his tour at the Museum of Superheroics. He explained that it was his only chance to receive such an extensive tour, and though he would never work as a superhero, he found it to be his duty as a citizen to know the details of history. She didn’t believe him, but it was only three days before graduation. There was so little to do in the classroom anyway, besides the final assignments Kent had already completed. He was a good student. He was stir-crazy. She let him go. 

Kent arrived at the Museum in the middle of the day. It was nearly entirely empty. He bypassed the newer exhibits to reach the Falconers. Jude Parson’s face flashed as the exhibit’s guide tried to tell him everything he already knew. Kent kept walking. 

There was a good chance the time machine was a bust. Kent knew that if this plan didn’t work, he’d probably be arrested. And then the chances for Sophie’s future would go down too. 

So Kent wouldn’t let that happen. 

He looked over to the flight visor, technology developed for the National Superhero Register in the twenty-second century. This was always supposedly unusable, broken by the Chinchilla. 

Kent grabbed the flight visor in his right hand and the time machine in his left. He fiddled for two seconds, trying to jam two entirely different pieces of technology together. Alarms buzzed around his head. Security would arrive soon. He had no time. He pressed harder, thinking, thinking, trying to absorb any powers in his midst. Did anyone have technokinesis? No. But something flittered at his ear, telling him to hold onto both tightly. He closed his eyes and thought of the twenty-first century. 

When he opened his eyes, Kent was still standing in Las Vegas. He was standing in an empty lot. A sidewalk to his left was filled with people, and they all passed by without a care, save for one old woman who clutched her pearls.

“Superheroes these days. Can’t even teleport to the right place. When I was Lady—”

Kent furrowed his brow and looked down at himself. He’d never noticed, but the form-fitting student uniform almost looked like the sort of suit twenty-first-century superheroes wore. With a few modifications, he could adjust his uniform to look better. Real. Perfect for this century. 

Kent flashed a smile. “I apologize for the fright,” he said. The woman was already walking away. It didn’t matter. This was Kent’s shot. He uncurled his hands from around the mishmash of technology in his hand. Something had changed about both of them. They fit together well, faintly red, but mostly translucent. Kent set the visor on his nose and looked around. All he had to do now was become a superhero.


	2. Issue #2: The Astounding Ace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never really written action scenes before, so this was a new experience. It may be lame. I apologize for that. But I'm sticking with my story of imitating superhero comics, so I have an excuse.

The plan was simple: As one of the many unknown superheroes from the twenty-first century, Kent could finally achieve his dream. Even better than that, he could straighten out history’s wrongs. With someone else on the scene, Jude Parson would never be arrested, and his family’s name would never be blotted. With a little adjustment, Kent used his newfound flight/time travel visor to take a fast track to Providence, the home of the brand-new superhero team: the Falconers. Once in Providence, all Kent had to do was prove himself.

The only issue with that was that Kent needed a place to stay, and without making a name for himself, he wouldn’t be able to find anywhere. Even worse, his plan centered on the East Coast, a place totally unfamiliar to him. Obviously, the best course of action was to jump headfirst into heroism. 

At least, that would have been the best course if he’d had a chance of winning. 

It didn’t take long after flying into Providence to hear alarms and broken glass. He flew down to inspect the area, to make sure he had actually stumbled across a crime scene.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

Kent stared at the man standing across from him. Jewelry store robberies. They were commonly depicted in adaptions of superhero stories, but Kent had figured it was an exaggeration. How many people actually robbed jewelry stores? Was that really the best way to get money? If they were that common, could he get any attention doing this?

It didn’t matter. A jewelry store robbery was what Kent had, and he had to make the best of it. This was his big shot. 

“I’m…” Kent froze. Fuck. Hero names were normally based on powers. But he didn’t exactly have any powers, not visible, obvious, offensive. He felt around, but he didn’t sense any powers he could borrow. Fuckfuck _fuck._

The robber didn’t care enough to wait for an answer. He slammed his fist into Kent’s face. The sound of his knuckles rattled through Kent’s skull inside his head, shaking him around. For a moment, as Kent watched the robber’s hand withdraw, he felt no pain. 

Then it hit him. He buckled over and took a deep breath. 

“Seriously?” the robber said. He had hardly flinched like he was used to punching guys in the face. “This is who they send? Why even bother? It’s a waste of my time.” He gathered up his haul to leave again. Kent wouldn’t let that happen. One punch wasn’t going to stop him. 

He threw himself at the robber’s back and tried to tackle him down. The robber had a few inches on him, but Kent was fast. He could use that momentum. He rattled him to the ground. The robber swung the bag of jewels. It smacked Kent in the ear, which didn’t hurt as much as the punch. Kent drew his hand back and aimed for the robber’s chest. 

Something hit his head, and after that, it got a little blurry. When Kent came back to himself, a shriveled old woman stood in front of him, staring at a few scattered pieces of jewelry on the sidewalk. She stared harshly from behind golden cat-eye glasses.

“Better than getting nothing back,” she muttered. “Insurance better cover this, you little brat.”

Was she talking to him? Kent blinked at her, and she merely shook her head. 

“No rewards! Get out of here! Don’t need some phony cash grabber running a racket. Where are the real superheroes when you need them?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Ego and head bruised, he trudged to his feet and started walking.

* * *

With the way Kent’s head was pounding, he should have gone to a hospital. In his own time, he could have walked in and walked out, perfectly treated, no cost. He walked towards a hospital instinctively, only to remember the healthcare inflation crisis of the twenty-first century when he reached the front doors. 

“You coming in, son?” a nurse asked as he wheeled a chair back inside. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. We get all kinds of kids trying the hero thing. It’s okay. Not everyone has powers. It’s the way it is.”

Kent bristled. He knew the man didn’t mean anything bad; he looked friendly enough, a gap-toothed smile and dark brown eyes. But he _had_ powers. He just hadn’t had the opportunity to use them. 

Had he waited too long to answer? He couldn’t tell. How long had it been? Kent blinked before shaking his head. “I’m just…” He couldn’t think of a good excuse. 

The nurse smiled anyway. “Be careful out there. And come back if you need help! We’re always open. No judgment.”

No judgment. Just astronomical prices. Kent didn’t care how nice the nurses were. He was not going to a hospital in this time period. He kept walking. 

In spite of the pounding in his head, for the first time since the idea of time traveling popped up, it occurred to him that he had no real plans. It would be months before Nobody was disgraced. Kent had hoped it would be enough time to establish himself as a hero. But how was he supposed to get by? This wasn’t the twenty-fourth century, where he could have walked into any number of public establishments. He had nowhere to go. 

Kent was starting to think he was kind of stupid. 

He kept walking. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t return home now; he’d be caught instantly. He’d stolen priceless artifacts from the museum, and then his family would be even more disgraced. As it was, there would be inquiries about his disappearance. At least this was, there wouldn’t be any proof.

Kent stopped dead in front of a series of bright lights, and he winced. Damn, that hurt. He blinked once, twice, and the lights came into focus. It had turned to night, and these were the lights common in shop windows in this time period. _BANK OF PROVIDENCE_ —Providence, like divine guidance. 

“You’ll never catch me!” A man in a latex bunny suit hopped out a second-floor window and landed on the roof of a car. 

No quips followed. Captain Canada flew out the window and grabbed the man by his bunny ears. “I already have,” he said. 

The man’s big eyes turned onto Captain Canada, pleading. 

He smacked his head. No, stupid. Providence, like Rhode Island. He’d come back to six months before the incident, when the team had been setting up their base in Providence.

“Did we all have to come out for this?” the Shade asked, emerging from one of the shadows long enough to grab the sacks of cash from Bunnyboy’s hands. “This was nothing. It’s kind of overkill.”

“Aw, come on. It’s our first time all together. It was fine.” The Eagle landed on one of the other cars, denting its roof. The Beaver popped up beside him, very delicately tapping until he buffed out the dent. 

“Be more fun if anyone do anything. We do better next time, yes?” A Russian accent. The Tater, obviously. Kent peered around one of the many signs to watch as a tall man threw his arm around one of the bystanders—a short, balding man with a briefcase. Almost instantly, the bystander shifted into someone new. 

Nobody. 

Who would have imagined seeing Nobody and the Tater side by side? Friendly? Nobody flashed a bright white grin and looked around the crowd. “We did fine now. Let’s hope it’s always this easy. All we care about is keeping everyone safe and sound.”

If history gave Nobody one due, it was that he was charming. Crowds had loved him before his downfall. Though Captain Canada was the leader, and the Beaver and the Eagle fell at his sides, when it came to PR and damage control, Nobody was their man. In his great-something-grandmother’s message to the family, the first thing she said was, “Jude had a way with words.” He was good. He was likable.

Kent was his legacy. 

“Yes, is most important!” the Tater agreed. He smiled brightly too, and he had a similar air, light and breezy, easy to like. It was strange to think that someone so sinister laid under the surface. 

“Look out!”

Kent turned to watch as a barrage of darts flew towards the crowd. His mind raced through the powers around—Beaver, speed, strength. He rushed forward and grabbed one person in the crowd at a time, depositing them elsewhere. Beside him, he saw others doing the same, but he was moving too quickly to process that. The darts hit the brick and fell to the ground harmlessly.

“I have more where that came from! Rise and face me, Sharkman!”

“The Pistol Shrimp!” Sharkman groaned. “I got ‘im, guys! Don’t worry! Sorry, I didn’t realize he followed me!”

The other founding members of the Falconers acknowledged him, but their eyes were locked on Kent instead. 

He hadn’t planned on doing this so soon, but hey. Opportunity knocks. Kent flashed a smile, white and toothy. “Hey. I’m the Ace.”


	3. Issue #3: The Formidable Falconers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is one of the few times I mention (most of) the Falconers' real names (the first chapter being the only other time I can remember), so keep an eye out for that! This also includes my first attempt at a subplot, which I'm a little nervous about. I've always wanted to write NurseyDex, but I always hate writing new ships because it takes a while for me to get a good feel for them. So this was my option!

The Falconers’ headquarters wasn’t what Kent imagined it would be, though to be fair, he’d only seen the inside of a meeting room so far. The Shade had covered his eyes with shadows while they led him to the building, and he hadn’t even been permitted to fly himself. He thought about telling them that he could have borrowed the Shade’s powers, but he figured it was better not to take that chance yet. No need to show all of his cards. Besides, this was where he wanted to go. They’d brought him straight to what looked to be a conference room, bland and gray, deposited him in a chair, and left.

That had been at least an hour ago, and he was starting to get pissed. 

Finally, the door opened, and the founding roster of the Falconers entered: Captain Canada, Jack Zimmermann, son of the greatest Emergent Age hero of all; the Beaver and the Eagle, Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz, in the top ten for best superhero duos; the Shade, Larissa Duan, renowned and unseen; Sharkman, Christopher Chow, one of the real greats; Nobody, Judas Parson; and of course, Alexei Mashkov, the Tater. 

Kent tried not to sneer. What a stupid hero name. What the hell did it even have to do with his powers?

Behind them, another man followed, white with a ponytail and a mustache. Unlike the others, he wore a business suit, and he looked itching to get out of it as he sat down at the head of the table. Eventually, the Falconers followed and sat down. The man smiled at Kent. “Sorry about the wait. I was at home, and I had to drive all the way here. Fucking traffic, you know?”

Kent blinked. “Uh.”

“B. Knight. I’m the Falconers’ legal representative,” he said. “You can call me Shitty. The team says you have superpowers.”

Kent shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And you expressed interest in joining the team?”

“He’s not,” Captain Canada said. 

“Hey, we could give him a chance,” Sharkman replied. 

The Eagle narrowed his eyes. “We don’t even know who he is.”

The Shade shrugged. “I don’t know who any of you are,” she said. “Not outside of the costumes. What does it matter if we add one more?”

“See, the difference is that we all had reputations. Sightings,” the Beaver said gently. “We took time to build our image. People know us. _No one_ has heard of the Ace.”

That was to be expected. Kent hadn’t realized it would pose a problem. He sat up a little straighter. “So what? Everyone has to start somewhere,” he said. “I have powers. I want to join. It’s a yes or no.”

“Uh.”

“No!”Most of the room was silent. Kent looked at Shitty, who seemed to be appraising him. 

“None of us actually have the authority to offer you a position,” he said after a moment. “That’s the manager’s job. And to bring up a potential member to the manager requires full endorsement of the team. Since you don’t have that…”

Oh. 

Okay. Fine. Kent tried not to show his reaction. He felt his brow twitching. Pressing his hands into the table, he stood up and moved towards the door. “Fine. I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Captain Canada called. “How did you know we’d all be there?”

“Seriously?” Nobody scoffed. “Do you really think he somehow knew we’d be there? He’s like any other guy with powers. He just happened to be there.”

Captain Canada wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. I think there’s something fishy about this.”

“He’s not renyu,” Sharkman said. 

Kent slammed the door. He wasn’t sure which way to go to get out, but he wasn’t going to go back and ask. He’d walk until he found it. 

* * *

From the time he left the team’s office to the time he reached the coffee shop, Kent had been considered the notion that he was a real fucking idiot. He’d traveled to the past without a single thought to anyone but himself. He’d hardly even thought about himself, not in terms of living or work. All he’d wanted was to save his ancestor’s reputation. It seemed so simple. If he did that, nothing would be the same. Everything would be better. 

Right now, Kent had no idea how he would get that there.

He’d almost resigned himself to walking until he found a shelter when a man fell through a door and crash-landed in front of him. He was tall and broad, easy on the eyes, with his dark hair shoved underneath a cap. His face was hidden in the sidewalk. Kent stared at him blankly.

“Hey,” the man said as he rose to his feet. “You need a job?”

Was that how people got jobs in the twenty-first century? Who knew it was that easy?

The man’s name was Derek Nurse, but, “Everyone calls me Nursey,” he told Kent with a smile. The coffee shop was his daytime business. He planned to be a writer, but that was something that wouldn’t happen for a while. “It won’t happen at all if I don’t own this coffee shop,” he added.

Kent had no idea what Nursey meant by that, but he decided against asking. A job was a job, after all. It helped that Nursey also offered to let Kent stay in his spare bedroom, which meant Kent had a place to live as well. 

The coffee shop was easy work. The staff consisted of very few people: a baker who happened to be one of Nursey’s college friends, a handful of current college students, and a repairman named Dex who hated on Kent on principle. 

(“You picked a random dude off the street,” he said the first time he saw Kent behind the counter.

Nursey shrugged.

“I’m so glad I don’t live with you anymore,” Dex said before he dove into the kitchen to fix the dying oven again. When he left, he returned three hours later with a bottle of pepper spray for Nursey and a warning for Kent that if anything happened to Nursey, Dex would track him down.)

Kent wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, even if the gift horse came with a rabid dog like Dex. He would figure out the details of his plan to save his ancestor later. For the moment, he only needed to adjust.

* * *

Three months before Jude Parson was destined to be disgraced and one month since Kent’s arrival to the twenty-first century, Kent received an invitation into the Falconers. 

Sort of. 

Christopher Chow walked into Nursey’s coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon, arms hooked with a tall woman in running gear. They chatted idly as they reached the counter, and Christopher Chow almost didn't look at Kent at all. One of the college students was working the register, and Kent stood behind the coffee machine that never seemed to work for him. (None of the technology in the shop did. Kent would think Dex somehow sabotaged it, if he hadn’t been absolutely sure Dex had no superpowers.) Kent didn’t notice Christopher Chow either—until the coffee machine squirted 85 degrees Celsius hot water over Kent’s shoulder and towards the woman at Chris’s side. It was pure instinct for Kent to dive into someone else’s powers, pure chance that Sharkman happened to be in the coffee shop, and sheer fortune that Kent controlled it enough to make the water fall onto the floor instead. He turned around just enough to meet Chris’s eyes. 

In half a second, Kent ran over what he knew about Christopher Chow. Not enough to help him in this situation. The only thing that came to mind was a set of distant descendant twins who fell on opposite sides of the law. History wouldn’t help Kent much in this situation. He thought back to a few weeks before, his brief meeting with the Falconers. They hadn’t spoken directly, but Sharkman had been one of the few willing to give him a chance. 

Chris didn’t look so inclined anymore. He eyed Kent warily, his hand on the woman’s arm growing a little tighter. 

“Hey, Chris!” Nicola, the college student, said. “Are you looking for Nursey? He’s upstairs.”

After a moment, Chris’s expression melted, and he beamed at Nicola. “Yeah, I wanted to introduce him to Cait. And can we get two—?”

Kent continued staring. Maybe he’d read too much into that. Maybe Christopher Chow hadn’t recognized him at all. He turned around and grabbed a rag to wipe the water from the floor. 

When Kent headed upstairs to go to bed that evening, he passed Nursey in his usual spot on the living room couch. “Hey. So you finally met Chris,” he said. “He was asking about you. I told him you were a down-on-your-luck potential superhero.”

“You what?” Kent stared at Nursey a moment longer. How had he—?

“It was obvious, bro. You were in costume when we met,” Nursey said. He looked up from his laptop, pushing his reading glasses up his nose. “I know it’s hard for superheroes to maintain normal jobs. Especially when you’re just starting out. I put in a good word for you, okay?”

“Oh.” Kent hesitated and glanced at the room on the left. He could see his visor lying at the foot of his bed. “Why—?”

“Because,” Nursey said, “sometimes you have to help people out. It’s the right thing to do.”

Kent should have asked much earlier about this. “This is more than helping me out. I’m a stranger. I—”

Nursey rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Kent. And despite what Dex seems to believe, I know what I’m doing. You have a job here because you need it. You’re living here because you need a place. I have enough reason to trust you.” He gave the sort of look that reminded Kent of his stepfather Robert, with sharp eyes behind reading glasses. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Keep working on that. As long as you fill in at the coffee shop when you’re needed, it’s chill.”

Kent didn’t like the idea of accepting this blindly. He’d taken this job at face value before, but the more he learned about Nursey, the more he wondered—

He felt around for powers in the air. Something flashed before his eyes: the Tater and Nobody, a Samwell Laboratories sign behind them, some fancy, techy invention in Nobody’s hands. That was right. That was why Kent was here. He had to focus. “I’ll do that,” he agreed, turning around. He paused and added, “Thanks.”

Nursey nodded as Kent slipped back into his room. A scribbled note laid on his bed. Kent read over the invitation a few times before he finally changed and crawled underneath the covers. The clicking of Nursey’s keyboard continued well into the night, a lull that let Kent sleep, even amidst the loud traffic, so different from his hometime.


	4. Issue #4: The Terrific Tater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter for a lot of reasons, but mainly because this was where I started to imagine backstories for all of the Falconers, not just Tater. Please don't ask how easy it would be to convince me to write something else in this verse. I need to graduate.

The invitation told Kent to head to the rooftop of one of the Zimmermann Incorporated buildings at 11:20 a.m. Kent showed up at 11:00, after asking Nursey if he could take an extended lunch break. With one of the shop’s sandwiches in his hands, he sat down to eat. Halfway through his sandwich, a shadow fell over him, stretching far beyond Kent’s frame. Kent tensed. The Shade? They sent the Shade? 

Assumptions got him nowhere. The rail along the edge of the building shook as the Tater flopped down beside him. “You not bring anything for me?” he asked genially, grinning widely. He had two crooked teeth up front. 

Kent tensed. “Hey, I didn’t schedule this. If you’re hungry, you should have brought your own food.”

The Tater shrugged. “I just eat, is okay. But no point for bribing teacher.” He paused. “Is probably good. Not sure if team would like giving points for food.”

Kent paused and raised a brow. “What do you mean points?” he asked evenly. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been asked there. 

The Tater grinned again and stretched out one long leg. “Ah, right. I am to explain. Team is not sure what to make of you, Mr. Ace. You appear, introduce self, get mad and leave. Is best not to ask new person we are not know or trust into brand new team, yes?” Something about the tone of his voice suggested that he was trying his best to explain the situation delicately. Kent wanted to punch him. 

“So why the fuck am I here?”

The Tater sighed and shook his head. “Sharkman bring up few days ago,” he said. “He say if you want to attack, we already bring you inside HQ. You have opportunity. You have not make move. So. Maybe we give you chance?”

Kent shoved the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. He looked over at the Tater. From behind the visor, his visage was clouded yellow. “This is you giving me a chance?”

The Tater nodded. “Is simple, yes? We give you chance to prove. You work with team member, and member decide if we can trust.”

It sounded like a fucking awful idea. Didn’t they know how easy it was to trick superheroes? Kent could name a dozen team infiltrations without even cracking the twenty-third century. The smart thing to do would have been to assign a monitor bot to investigate his every move. 

But this was the twenty-first century. They didn’t have monitor bots. They believed in free will, second chances, and the power of humans to trust each other. 

“Who am I going to be working with?” Kent asked. The Tater smiled brighter.

Oh.

“Nope,” Kent said. He brushed the crumbs off of his hands and stood up. “I’m not doing this. Thanks, but no thanks.”

The Tater frowned. “You not want to join the team?”

“I don’t want to have a babysitter,” Kent snapped. “You guys don’t trust me? Fine. But I’m not letting someone tell me what to do.”

The Tater gawked at him before another expression overtook his face. There it was. The other side of the Tater, the one that he kept hidden from his teammates. His dark eyes grew sharp, and okay, if Kent knew one thing, it was that supervillains of this era could be very hot. He should have gone ahead and went straight for supervillain with that face. 

At least some of them had integrity. 

“You not willing to make compromise,” he scoffed. “Walk in, say let me join team, but not even try! Is not so easy to do this. Being hero is more than putting on suit, having power. You give up much.” His face grew very grim, and he stood. “I am not fight over this. You say you choose not to join team? Is up to you. We make offer. Our job is done.” 

The Tater gave Kent another sharp look before flexing his fingers. A few sparks flew off and hit the metal. Kent winced at the shock that rolled through his feet. 

“Is no second chance with this. We make offer,” the Tater repeated. 

“Fuck your offer.” Kent stood his ground and crossed his arms. The Tater scoffed and jumped in the air, disappearing in a flash. As soon as he was gone, Kent’s stomach twisted. 

Why had he done that?

* * *

Kent knew the Tater had told him no second chances, but he was looking for a second chance. If Sharkman—or rather, Chris Chow—would only come back to the coffee shop, Kent would have a chance to explain himself. He’d probably have to make up some bogus story about how the Tater failed to save him once and that was why he had a grudge, but he’d force his way in. It had to work. 

Except when he asked Nursey if he knew when Chris Chow would be back in, Nursey said, “No, I’m not omniscient. That’s my cousin,” which was unhelpful and more confusing than anything. So Kent had no way of knowing when or if he’d be able to plead his case, which didn’t bode well, considering Chris Chow had been the one to advocate for him in the first place. After three weeks, he started to lose hope.

On his day off, he went to the bank to try to start one of those old-fashioned bank accounts. He was in the middle of skimming through a website on his phone (so incredibly difficult to use—who knew old tech would be just difficult to use because it was old?) as he walked through the doors and straight into a man’s chest. 

First thought: Damn. 

Second thought: Those arms.

Third thought (as Kent lifted his head to look to the man’s face): Fuck. 

Alexei Mashkov stared down at him, appraising for a moment. Kent wondered if he was one of the easily fooled by a pair of sunglasses. Alexei narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t. 

“Rat,” he hissed. 

Kent bristled. He started to lift his head and yell, start a fight in a bank that would probably get him thrown out before he could even make his account, when it hit him. Much as he hated the Tater, he had to get into Falconers. He had to grovel.

When Alexei started to move around him, as Kent hadn’t moved, Kent reached to grab his arm. “Wait,” he said softly. Alexei turned to look at him, raising one brow. Kent’s chest burned at the thought of doing this. “Look, I— Last time was kind of… a bad foot?” Yeah, Kent was pretty sure that was the saying. “Can we talk somewhere? Get something to eat? My treat.” 

He opened his bag, flashing the cash he’d saved from his previous paychecks. Alexei’s eyes widened, and he hissed, yanking the zipper closed before Kent could say another word. “You are dumb? Is not good to carry around money like that!”

“No shit,” Kent said. “That’s why I was going to get a bank account.”

“We do this first,” Alexei said. He grabbed Kent by the arm and tugged him inside. Twenty minutes later, they walked back out.

“Why do you need an ID to start an account? That’s bullshit. All I want to do is put my money in a bank,” Kent muttered. He shoved a hand into his hair, a few strands falling in his face. Beside him, Alexei began to cackle. 

“You are funny man,” he said. “Is okay. You have mini-account with me now, and I give you card. You can use money.”

Kent shot him a glare. He hadn’t _wanted_ to share a bank account with Alexei, but that’d been the option that presented himself. Much as he hated the man, he’d needed some way to store his money. And if he lost it? Well, he had a home and job with rent-attached. He’d make it through. 

“Whatever,” he muttered. 

“Come.” Alexei patted him on the shoulder. “You say you buy me lunch, yes? Buy lunch and we talk more about what you want to say.” Oddly enough, the encounter in the bank had eroded the iciness he’d shown early, which Kent supposed was a good thing. It meant he had a real chance to convince him. The smile on his face still made Kent feel sick. 

They walked to a nearby cafe Alexei insisted was the best in the city. Once they sat down and ordered, Alexei leaned back into his seat, raising a brow as he waited for Kent to speak. “So. Little rat remember I say no second chance?”

“I remember.” Kent sat up a little straight, his own expression defiant. “But it’s not really a second chance when I haven’t started yet, right?”

Alexei paused. He lifted his glass to his lips before shaking his head. “No. No second chance for offer. You say no. You say, ‘Fuck your offer.’” He made a face as he said this, raising his voice. Kent wanted to punch him so bad. 

He took a deep breath instead. “Look.” Kent drew his finger around the outside of his glass. The condensation slid down the side of his hand. “I… I really need to be part of this team. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”

Alexei hummed. “Is strange. We not tell anyone about team,” he said.

Kent winced. He’d said too much. “It’s not like— I mean— it’s the reason I’m here now. I want to be a part of a team. And I don’t have many other options.”

“Yet you still say, ‘Fuck—’”

“I know what I said!”

Alexei held his hands up and shook his head. “Strange, strange man. You show up, want to be part of team, fight when get offer, not know how to get bank account—” His expression slowly grew more and more perplexed. “Who are you?”

Kent swallowed, scrambling for a story. “I don’t want to tell you,” he said finally. “I just— I have powers. I want to be a hero. Why isn’t that enough?”

Alexei didn’t answer. Kent got the feeling it wasn’t a good idea to speak up. Slowly, Alexei seemed to soften, until he finally looked back to Kent and said, “I help you.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Yes,” Alexei said. “You are… strange. But think you mean well. But is not just me who has to say yes. Remember, team make offer with condition.” 

Kent grimaced. 

Alexei smiled sympathetically. “I know is not nice to be under suspicion. But is way it is. You must try to show you are better than people believe. And I help you.”

“So it’s the same rules as before. If I want to join the team, I have to be your sidekick.” Kent sighed and flopped back in his seat. The anti-ergonomic chair dug into his back.

Alexei laughed. “Not sure I say sidekick. But yes, sure. We make work, okay? Now, if we work together, I am need to know. What is power?”

Kent glanced at Alexei curiously. He hesitated before he dug through the energy to yank at Alexei’s power. He tapped the edge of the metal table and sent a current through the rim to Alexei’s pinky. Alexei jumped and stared. 

“Is like me?” he asked. “But before, you seem fast, strong. And Sharkman say—”

“I can borrow powers.” Kent debated how that might sound to twenty-first-century ears. “Copy is more accurate. If someone’s close enough, I can… do whatever they do.”

“Oh,” Alexei said. He stared at Kent. 

Kent rolled his eyes. “You still have your powers. It’s not like I affect you at all. My powers don’t work like that.” He still remembered the report he’d read about his power’s function over the years. It was simple, shifting his molecules to mimic what he needed.

“Is interesting. May be good for us,” Alexei said. “But we see. Good power is only good if user is good. We wait until we in the field.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their meal. Kent groaned as he thought about how much he’d have to pay. Alexei flashed a grin. “Eat! You want to be hero, must take care of self. You so small.”

Kent held himself back from kicking him under the table. He only had to put up with this for a short time. Soon, everything would be better. For his whole family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't know if it was obvious, but yes, Johnson is Nursey's cousin in this for some reason.)


	5. Issue #5: The Dream Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever heard people talk about how comics are meant to be apolitical? They can't be. You literally can't avoid making a stand about what you feel is right.

“When are we going to actually do something?”

Alexei swung one costumed leg against the building. His heel hit the brick, and he shot Kent a glare. “Must wait for right moment. Must know sure if what we see is something bad or someone going to be hurt. So we watch.” He gestured down at the city, all god awful lights in a dull dusk. The combination made Kent’s head hurt, and he huffed. 

“Can’t a computer do this for us?” he begged. A computer would have been able to find a crime in a few seconds, and it would have been far more accurate than two men sitting on a rooftop.

Alexei looked scandalized at the thought. “You leave computer to think if person do bad thing or not?” he asked. “Computer only as good as programmer. May have bias, or error, and we might hurt someone. No, we wait until we know for sure. Only if needed.”

“ _We_ could have biases or errors,” Kent protested.

“Is way it is! Why you argue? So lazy,” Alexei scoffed. He adjusted the mask slipping down his face, and Kent’s blood boiled. 

“I’m not lazy! I just think we could be spending our time better!”

“Is part of job! You must watch. Make own decision.” At that moment, Alexei’s attention turned to two small figures on the ground. “You see, Harry and Sakina. Harry is landlord. When Sakina not pay on time, he come and take jewelry to sell. Sakina too scared to report.” His expression grew a little sour. “We go and say three times to stop, but he seem to think we stop looking. So now we do hard way.” 

Alexei finally rose, everything in him settled into his heroic persona. Kent stood beside him, waiting for his partner to make the first move. Alexei jumped down, the electricity in his feet guiding him towards the metal railing below. Kent followed suit, wobbling as he tried to recreate his actions. Damn, his powers were hard to use. He landed with a thump and scrambled after Alexei inside. 

“Mr. Harry, is time again?” the Tater sighed, shaking his head. “How many time I have to say? Is theft! Cannot just take.”

Harry, a white guy with greasy blond hair and slimy smile, tried to make an innocent expression. He looked more annoyed than anything. “Tater, I’m only taking what’s mine. Sakina knows when rent is due. If she’d sell this herself, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to get my money.”

Sakina, for her part, was crouched in front of a small box. She adjusted her hijab as she glanced up at the Tater before her eyes caught on Kent, the unfamiliar one in the room. 

“We make this easy, or you force hand?” the Tater asked, crossing his arms. When he dropped the smile and stood straight, he looked far more intimidating than he had a right to be, broad shoulders and thick arms, a dark scowl on his lips. 

“I only want my money,” Harry said. He turned the jewelry around in his hands, a gold necklace and a glimmering pink ring. “This junk will be just enough to cover it.”

“It’s worth more than fifty dollars!” Sakina protested. Realizing she’d drawn attention to herself, she drew her box back to her chest and curled in. 

“Is hard way,” the Tater sighed. He waved his hand, and electricity shot through the metal chain. Harry’s hands clenched, then slackened. Kent snatched the necklace from the floor and handed it back to Sakina.

“Who’s this dickhead?” Harry asked as he flexed his fingers. “You have a sidekick now?”

“No!” Kent cried. 

The Tater snorted. “Ha, no. Is… Ace. Partner. And you be glad this is most we do—”

Two shots rang out from the other side of the door. Kent looked over. Two men stood on the opposite side of the street, guns brandished at a high school student, lying flat on their back. He turned his gaze to Alexei, who kept one eye on Harry as he glanced outside. 

Kent didn’t bother asking. If Alexei was so used to handling Harry and Sakina, he couldn’t complain if Kent took this one by himself. He darted out the door and sent a shock through the guns to the shooters. They crumpled onto the ground. Kent flashed a grin. Easy. Alexei made things too complicated. 

Behind him, the student let out a breath. “Thank you!” they gasped, pushing a strand of hair out of their eyes. “I— I— Wow. I’ve never been saved by a superhero before.” The student paused and frowned. “Who are you?”

Kent laughed. “Call me the Ace,” he said, offering his hand as he helped the student up. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” they cried. “I can’t wait to tell my friends. Holy shit.” They turned around and snapped a picture. Kent watched over their shoulder as they typed out a new social media post: the first in history, labeling the Ace by name, he imagined. Around them, a small crowd had formed, always intrigued by the presence of a superhero. Kent grinned and took pictures and signed napkins.

Kent looked back to the other building, where Alexei still stood with Sakina and Harry. This was simple.

* * *

“You are idiot!”

Kent bristled and crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you’re so pissed.”

“Because you are idiot!” Alexei cried, slamming his hands down on the table. He was strong enough that it rattled through the floor of the Falconers’ cafeteria. “You are meant to learn from me, but you rush off as soon as you think you see chance to show off. You think is good impression?”

“It wasn’t a chance to show off!” Kent said. “I was _saving_ someone. From a gun! That’s more dangerous what you were doing.”

“You think what Harry do is not violence?” Alexei asked, anger bubbling under the surface. “You think is okay that he come in, terrify Sakina when she at home, take what not belong to him, and she cannot say no because she owe little bit of money? You think is fair that she have to take day off work and wait for plumber every month because he too cheap to hire real work and fix up place? You think is fair that he raise rent on place like this?”

“Well—” Kent started to protest. He faltered.

“Sakina want to move, but cannot save money when everything she has is taken,” Alexei said.

“So we help. But what was I supposed to do? Ignore the people outside?” 

Alexei exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “Is not what I say. But you rush off, not listen to word I say. You spend so long outside after you done, being in lemon-light, not coming back to help. You think how it look to Sakina, to Harry?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kent scoffed. “You were there.”

“Yes, was. But now Harry think if I am not there, if you come, maybe he get away with by chance of someone else needing help nearby,” Alexei said. “You wait five seconds, or maybe listen, we do our job quick and go help together. Or I tell you to handle one while I handle other. We meet, regroup. _Not_ what you do.”

“There’s no difference!” Kent said.

“You are impossible!” Alexei’s eyes flashed lightning white, hair rising from his head. He took one deep breath, and the electricity crackled down. “I am not talk right now. I go somewhere else. You sit and think about what you do.”

“Excuse me? Am I a _child_?” 

The other eyes in the room were still staring at them, but Kent ignored them. Maybe he would spoil his chances to save Nobody from disgrace if he fought the Tater now, but maybe he could beat him so badly, he’d never play superhero again. 

Alexei looked back at Kent, eyes dark brown and sad again. “You are strong, powerful. Good potential. But is _wasted_ on rat,” he bit out. 

Kent swallowed what was burning in his throat and watched as Alexei stormed out of the cafeteria. He looked down at the sandwich he’d bought for lunch. The bread was soggy by now. 

“Come on. Let’s get lunch somewhere else.” 

Kent looked up. Jude Parson flashed a grin. 

“The cafeteria food is cheap as shit. But hey, we’re just starting out. Can’t afford the good stuff,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s my treat. I know the perfect place.”

* * *

Jude Parson took his great-something-grandson to Sunny’s Diner. They sat in a booth with dim lighting that set a seven o’clock mood at noon. Once they’d ordered their drinks, he flashed a grin. “You and Tater seem to be making sparks.”

That was one way to put it. Kent rolled his eyes. “He’s a pain in the ass.” He paused, wondering if Jude had realized how awful the Tater was yet. “But he’s the one I’m stuck with.”

“He means well,” Jude said lightly. “But you’re right. He’s not always good at looking from the other perspective. But that’s why we all work together. We all bring something new to the table. And I’m sure he’ll learn with time that he isn’t always right.”

Kent relaxed. It was nice to actually speak to someone who understood, even if he had yet to learn how much of an issue the Tater truly was. “I don’t understand why he thinks we should choose one person over another,” he said. “He had a handle on that situation. I took care of the other.”

“It makes sense,” Jude agreed. “But think of it like this: You stopped an obviously violent crime. Which is great! It’s good for us to step in and stop people when they’re doing immediate harm. But you can’t ignore how much of the world is run by people doing slow harm. Like vampires.”

“You guys have vampires?” Kent did not remember this section in his history courses. 

Jude blinked. “Uh, no. I mean… these are people that suck the life out of others, slowly.”

“Oh. So more like leeches.”

“Leech is a good word.” Jude grabbed a packet of sweetener from the side of the table, and Kent internally winced. Those things were so full of shit.

“But what are we supposed to do about it? Is it our right to intervene?” Kent asked. “We can’t save everyone. Tater gets involved with Harry and Sakina. That’s great for Sakina. But there are a billion other people on the planet we can’t save. What if by helping her, we’re dooming someone else? How is that right?”

A shadow crossed over Jude’s eyes as a waiter passed by. “You have to do your best. Save the people who need you the most. And you can’t beat yourself up when you don’t save someone. Saving a thousand lives is great, but so is saving one. You’ve done _something_ , at least.”

Kent nodded. He watched as their waitress approached, setting down Jude’s lemonade and Kent’s water. He took a sip. Like most water from this time period, it tasted off. “So what do I do about Tater?”

Jude hesitated before flashing a smile. “Talk to him. Try to explain yourself. I think he’ll understand if he knows where you’re coming from. And maybe you two can get on some common ground. You never know who you’ll click with.”

“Makes sense,” Kent admitted.

“Trust me, you can make it in this world as long as you get along with everyone,” Jude said. “We’ve all got our issues, the stuff we want to fight for. You pick that out, you stick to it, and you make sure you make friends when you need to.”

Kent raised a brow. “You need to make friends with me?”

Jude laughed. “You never know when someone will come in handy,” he said with a wink before he picked up his menu, the conversation dropped. 


	6. Issue #6: Prowling in Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Hypsibemas are a genus of dinosaur that have only been found in two states. Neither of them are Rhode Island. I just used a dinosaur generator. They're also only around ten feet tall, but I think a ten-foot dinosaur could cause plenty of damage. I, for one, am only 5'2", and I think I could cause plenty of damage during an anxiety attack.

The coffee shop ran out of filters in the middle of the morning rush on a Wednesday. One of the college students, a kid with bright eyes who constantly wore the ugliest yellow cap Kent had ever seen, offered to go, but Nursey shook his head from his seat at one of the tables. (Beside him, Dex was working on the broken cooler, likely the only reason Nursey was out of the apartment at all.) 

“Send Kent,” he said. “I’m fairly sure that’s supposed to happen.”

Kent shrugged. Who cared who went? He put his apron up and headed towards the stairs to change, ignoring the glare Dex gave him. The quickest way to the store and back was through flight, so he was always better to go out as the Ace if he wanted to get done quickly. 

He hopped out the window and flew in the direction of the grocery store, only to be stopped halfway by a dinosaur on Windy Street. 

“Is that a fucking dinosaur?” he asked himself. He turned his head just as a burst of air hit him from the side, and he spun outwards. The Eagle swooped down low, opening his mouth for an ear-piercing screech. 

_“Hey, dinosaur! Baby, you’re prehistoric!”_

Though it was difficult to see from this far away, Kent was fairly sure he could see a figure darting across the dinosaur’s tail until he reached a member of the crowd. Kent forced himself to catch onto a breeze, spiraling down to the ground instead. 

“What’s going on?” he asked the Beaver. 

The Beaver sighed. “Someone used a time machine to bring a dinosaur into the city. I thought I could tame it with some of my anxiety powers, but it only made it worse.”

“Not everyone curls up and cries when they’re anxious, Beaver,” the Eagle said as he landed. He looked at Kent. “He’s a coral reef. Delicate system. Special.”

“Anyway, I accidentally made it upset, and now it’s confused, scared, and terrorizing the city,” the Beaver said. 

Kent nodded. He reached for his visor and fumbled around until he could start searching for a chronal signature. “Do either of you know when this dinosaur came from?”

“No,” the Beaver said.

“It’s a hypsibema. From the Late Cretaceous period,” the Eagle said. Both the Beaver and Kent turned to look at him. “I was really into dinosaurs as a kid.”

Kent rolled his eyes and began scanning. He hoped he’d latched onto the right time, for the poor creature’s sake, and with a few pushes of the button, the dinosaur disappeared back into spacetime. The Beaver and the Eagle stared.

“I sent him home,” Kent said with a shrug. “I… copy powers, you know? I just copied whatever brought it here.”

“Oh,” the Beaver said, dark eyes going wide. Kent’s chest fluttered a little. Even behind his mask, the Beaver was quite possibly the most handsome man he’d ever seen. The history books did not do him justice. “So you were able to send it home. Good. It can go back to its family.”

Kent made a face. “Well, hopefully. I mean… it should be the right time period, give or take a hundred years.”

“A hundred years?” the Beaver and the Eagle gasped.

“Time travel isn’t an exact science!” Kent said. “And it’s not like I was traveling with the dinosaur—”

“Hypsibema.”

“—I couldn’t keep an eye on it. It should be fine. If I reversed the process correctly, it should have gone straight back to where it left,” he finished.

The Beaver and the Eagle exchanged looks. “I suppose that’s good enough,” the Beaver said. “At least it’s home, with its own kind.”

“And not traipsing around the city. This interrupted my 30 Rock marathon,” the Eagle grumbled.

“You’re _always_ having a 30 Rock marathon. You literally use any excuse to start over,” said the Beaver.

The Eagle’s eyes lit up. Kent took that as a cue to leave. He started to float away.

“Hey, wait,” the Beaver called. Kent turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s talk for a minute. There’s a park over there.” He gestured down the road, and Kent faltered. The Eagle shrugged and followed the Beaver.

Okay. Kent would be following too. 

Once they’d found a free bench and sat down, the Beaver turned to address Kent. “I know you’re supposed to be shadowing Tater. Is that not a thing anymore?”

“Yeah, we all saw the scene in the cafeteria. I doubt Tater is even willing anymore,” the Eagle muttered.

Kent huffed. “I can’t deal with him,” he said. “He’s so… infuriating!”

“He’s inspiring!” the Beaver protested. “Do you even know how he got his powers? I can’t imagine many people would be able to take all that and then become a _hero_. He’s—”

“Sanctimonious, loud, unyielding, bossy, argumentative,” Kent droned. 

The Beaver shot him a look. “You could probably stand to learn something from him,” he said. “That’s the whole reason the team wants you to work _with_ him. You understand that? He’s experienced and brilliant and—”

“If you think it’s so great to work with him, why don’t _you_ partner up?” Kent asked. He crossed his arms and stood. 

“Hey, the Beaver is _my_ partner!” the Eagle said. “And also he can’t talk to Tater without getting tongue-tied.”

“He’s so cool,” the Beaver whispered mournfully. 

Kent rolled his eyes. 

The Eagle glared at him. Eagle-eyed may have meant something else, but something about that sharp expression made Kent want to change the meaning. “ _Tater_ is willing to give you a chance. That means the rest of us are giving you a chance. I suggest you take it. Maybe consider for once that you’re not always right.”

Kent thought back to Jude’s words the day before. He let out a breath, shoulders slumping. “…Okay. I’ll try again.” He paused. “I’m not used to working with other people. Sorry.”

The Beaver smiled. “Hey, you did a good job today. No one starts out being perfect. And teamwork is a skill. Sometimes you click with people right away. Sometimes you have to work at it.”

A sliver of hero-worship burst from Kent’s chest. No wonder the Beaver had been so well-loved. _He_ was inspiring. “Thanks. I guess I better go talk to Tater.”

“He’s probably at the base. We can let you in,” the Beaver offered.

“Do we have to?” the Eagle asked. 

“Yes! He helped earlier!”

“But my marathon—”

* * *

Just as the Beaver and the Eagle said, the Tater was at the base. Kent grabbed a couple of muffins from the cafeteria before he tracked him down in one of the lounges. Alexei looked up when a chocolate chip muffin bounced off his ear.

“What?” He clutched the muffin in his palm before taking a bite. “Mm. Not bad.”

Kent nibbled on his blueberry muffin and flopped down in a nearby chair. “It’s ridiculously sweet. How much sugar do you add to these things?”

Alexei turned to Kent and scowled. “Oh, rat is back. Great.”

“Would you not call me a rat?” Kent snapped.

“Rat is rat.”

Kent’s lips twisted, first into a grimace, then into a forced smile. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For running off.”

Alexei raised a brow. “You are?” he asked. 

“I mean—sort of. Not really.” He sighed. “Look, I’m not experienced with this. And _maybe_ you have some points. But I still see things my way. I’m just saying, maybe, I should give you a chance to change my mind.”

Alexei half-smiled. “Hm. Is not great apology.”

“All I’m saying is I’m willing to listen to you. Sometimes.” Kent huffed and set his half-eaten muffin aside.

Alexei was quiet, except for the sounds of chewing. “You know… I am not start as hero,” he said eventually. “My power—is sad story. When I am young, I grow up in nice village in Russia. Mama is figure skater; Papa is hockey player. So sisters and I live with Babushka. And sisters all grow up and go away, until is only me and Babushka, and nice village slowly get worse. Then one day, big storm hit town. Roads flood, lightning strike, and suddenly, all village is charged. Hit all of us. Feel it all through me, is hot and hurts and I can’t move. And then I black out. When I wake up, everyone is dead but me.”

Kent froze. Oh. _Oh_. This was the origin story. All good superheroes had one. And no one could really understand a hero without knowing something about their origin. Maybe Kent should have done more to understand Alexei.

“Then how did you start being a hero?” he asked. 

Alexei stared at the empty muffin wrapper. “Wake up, and I have power I cannot control. At first, I go find Mama and Papa, sisters, but no one know how to help. And I… I miss Babushka. So I leave. Use Mama and Papa connections to get job in city. And one day, I look around see all bad thing happen to good people. And I decide is my job to do something. So I practice and learn and get better. And now I am here.”

“Wow…”

Alexei turned to Kent expectantly.

“What?” Kent asked. 

“What is your story?”

“Oh.” Kent didn’t want to tell Alexei his story. What could he even say? He couldn’t tell much about what really happened, and he hadn’t bothered to think of a good cover story. He didn’t even _like_ Alexei. This was only because he needed to get into the Falconers. But Alexei kept staring with big brown eyes, and— “My family is shamed.”

Alexei faltered. “Shamed?”

“Where I’m from—” Kent paused to consider his words. “Everyone knows everything about each other. Family history, all that junk. And when someone in your family does something wrong, everyone knows. A long, long time ago, one of my ancestors did something that shamed us. So I could never do what I wanted to do. Not unless I did something… bad to get here.”

Alexei raised a brow. “Bad?”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I… took something. A couple things,” Kent admitted. 

“You stole,” Alexei said.

“Only so I could come somewhere I could _prove_ myself,” Kent said.

Alexei shifted in his seat, setting his phone aside. “I see. You have trouble too. And now you are here. What you do?”

Kent chewed on his bottom lip. “I looked for the Falconers to join. And then I got a job,” he said softly.

“So you not steal anything else. Only what you need to get here. Is not greed, just survival,” Alexei said. 

Kent shrugged. “Call it what you want.”

“Is difference! You are not like I think.” Alexei gave a wide smile. He was missing an incisor. Something about it was charming. “Okay. We try again. Tomorrow night. Sound good?”

Kent smiled back. “Sounds good.” He froze. “Shit. I was supposed to pick up coffee filters.”

“What?”

“For my job! Coffee filters! I gotta go.” Kent scrambled out of his seat and out of the room. Alexei’s laugh echoed behind him.

* * *

“They always put more spikes up,” the Tater explained as he shot another spike off of the bench. “But we make law while back against these. George and Shitty work on law side, but that take time. I like direct approach.”

Kent snorted before he copied the motion. Electricity was surprisingly effective. He’d learned that by the third day, but after three weeks, it was getting clearer by the minute. “Fine by me. Sometimes you gotta do things by hand.”

“Yes! We make world better place bit—by—bit.” The Tater punctuated each word with a gesture, reaching out to make sure the bench was nice and smooth. He gave a crooked smile at Kent. “You are not so bad, Ace. Get better at electricity.”

“That’s only because you’re the one I spend all my time with. I’ve gotten a lot of practice,” Kent shrugged. 

“Practice make perfect!” The Tater hummed as he looked around the park once more to ensure they hadn’t missed a bench. “Is all good. We can be done for night.”

“Are you sure?” Kent asked. “We have time. We can do a little more.”

The Tater shook his head. “You work hard, Ace. But is not good to push too hard. We practice more soon.”

Kent sighed. “Fine. I do have a shift in the morning.”

“Then you need to go to bed!” the Tater cried. “Now, you go. I finish.”

“I can help—”

“No! Bye for you. I see you soon, Ace!” 

Kent shook his head. “Fine. Fine, I’m going. Bye, Tater.” He hopped into the air and took off towards the coffee shop.

“Ace. Is good name for him,” the Tater mused to himself. He gathered the spikes and left.


	7. Issue #7: The Heroes' Damage Charity Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much I wanted to say about the adventures of Captain Canada and his love triangle between the notorious thief Bunnyboy and the sweet, innocent Eric Bittle (who just happens to be part of the Phelps family), but this chapter is all you get for now. Sorry!

History had never been Kent’s strong suit, but he vaguely remembered the annual Heroes’ Damage Charity Ball. He hadn’t realized it had originated prior to the Falconers’ conception. Yet it had been founded by Georgia Martin and her legal team (including Shitty Knight, not that Kent had ever heard his name in the history books, unless he was the B-something Knight who married the Shade) five years before, when Captain Canada, in a clash with the Phelps family’s smuggling ring, destroyed a statue of the first settler of the small town of Samwell. Now, with Ms. Martin in charge of the Falconers, each member was invited, including Kent. 

“Do I have to go?” Kent asked Alexei when he stopped by the coffee shop to hand over his invitation.

“Is required,” Alexei explained. He sipped his drink—some creamy, fruity, coffee catastrophe that Kent didn’t even _want_ to know the taste of—and shrugged. “Is fun! We go in costume, dance little, and then people pay money to fix places that need help. Good all around.”

“Great,” Kent said. He picked at an ice chip from his glass of water. “Do I have to be there long?”

Alexei snorted and tilted his cup just enough to catch a bit of whipped cream on the tip of his nose. “You are funny, Ace. Act like you don’t like to be at party. Be center of attention.”

That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that Kent had come to realize that some social norms were not the same in the twenty-first century as they were in his time, and he knew a formal event would definitely have norms he had yet to learn. It sounded like more trouble than it was worth. But he didn’t have a choice, did he? “So all we have to do is wear our costumes? Nothing special?” Kent asked. 

“Yes. Nothing special.” Alexei finished the last of his sugar bomb drink and tossed the cup in the trash. “I see you there?” His eyes were big and bright, and Kent’s stomach twisted a little.

“You just said it’s mandatory.”

Alexei’s smile grew sheepish. “Ah. Yes. But—”

“Of course I’ll be there,” Kent scoffed. He grabbed the next cup in the lineup and filled the order. 

“Good,” Alexei breathed, his voice sounding a little off, almost breathy.

“You okay?” Kent asked.

“Yes!” Alexei assured. “I must… must go now. I see you at party.”

“Hey, wait—” Kent started, wondering if they wouldn’t meet before, for any patrols, but Alexei had already rushed out of the door. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the coffee. Instead of another cup to fill, he found Dex standing in front of the creamer. 

“Are you dumb?” Dex asked as he poured the creamer into his thermos. 

“Excuse me?”

Dex stared at Kent blankly before downing half of the cup in one go. “Where’s the machine Nursey thought was making noise?”

“Oh, it’s—” 

Once Kent showed Dex where to get working, the room fell silent, save for the college student taking orders and the few customers trickling in. Kent allowed his mind to drift towards the ball. He smiled to himself as he filled another disgustingly sugary drink, wondering if he should bring one for Alexei the next time they went on patrol.

“So you are dumb,” Dex concluded as he slammed the other coffee maker on the counter.

Kent gawked. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Kent. So you need Thursday night off?” Nursey asked as he came down the stairs.

Kent faltered and lifted the invitation from where he’d laid it on the counter. “Uh, yeah. How’d you—?”

“Hey, you got the coffee maker fixed!” Nursey cheered, which made Dex’s cheeks flush. This was a normal occurrence. 

“Yeah, it, uh—it wasn’t a hard fix. Just train your staff better,” Dex muttered, wiping his hands clean with a rag. Nursey was staring at that, his hands to forearms, the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. 

Kent mentally scoffed. And Dex called him dumb. Let the lovebirds flirt. Kent had planning to do.

* * *

While not an official member of the Falconers (yet), on the night of the Heroes’ Damage Charity Ball, Kent was lined up on stage with the rest, while Georgia Martin gave a speech. Her wife stood beside her in a deep maroon suit. Shitty Knight was on her other side, with Captain Canada to his left, the Shade, Nobody, Sharkman filling out that end. On the other side, the Beaver and the Eagle stood, with the Tater to their right, and Kent on the end. Georgia’s speech was long, long enough that the heroes began to chatter behind her through their comms, which led to a few interesting conversations (“I’m just saying if Beaver and I were villains, _obviously_ our names should be Ransom and Holster. Which is infinitely cooler than Beaver and Eagle,” to which the Shade replied, “You two _chose_ those names.”), which was put to an end when they tried to pull Captain Canada into the throes (“I’m not sure which of your love interests is worse: _Bunnyboy_ or Eric Bittle, the grandson of the Mistress Phelps herself.”).

 _“Eric,”_ Captain Canada hissed, _“is not involved in his family’s business at all. He runs a nice bakery, and he should be left out of this. And I’m not interested in Bunnyboy.”_

“So you are interested in Eric Bittle,” Kent whispered before he could stop himself. Beside him, the Tater snorted.

_“Why is Ace even here? He’s not officially—”_

_“He rounds out our ranks,”_ the Shade said.

 _“And Tater says he’s doing good work,”_ Sharkman added.

“He is!” the Tater said brightly from beside Kent, his voice echoing through the comm. “Very good. I think—”

 _“No more business on the comms, kiddos,"_ George said as she stepped back from the microphone to let Shitty give his portion of the speech, which was much shorter and much less formal. _“When Mr. Knight is done, go and mingle. Have fun. That includes Mr. Bittle, Captain Canada, but be careful—”_

Her warning sent half the group into snickers, which Shitty took as his cue to end the speech. The crowd dispersed onto the dance floor.

Aw, shit. Kent should have studied twenty-first-century dances. Why wasn’t that an option to study back in school? Far more useful than half of what he learned in Class 12. He stepped down from the stage but lingered in the corner until a finger tapped on his shoulder.

“Holy shit, how did you get behind me?” he gasped as he turned to face the Shade.

She shrugged. “It’s my power, dude. You should expect that.”

“Hm,” Kent mused, wondering if he could use her power to sneak up on her. 

“I can also sense what’s hidden in shadows, so don’t—”

“Okay, got it,” Kent said, holding his hands up.

The Shade stared at him for a moment. “Dance?”

“Huh?”

“You know how to dance? You’re the only one standing over here,” she said.

“Oh, uh—honestly, no,” Kent admitted.

The Shade pulled her hood down a little more before she grabbed both of Kent’s hands and tugged him towards the floor. “Then you better learn.”

For the first song, the Shade led, whispering a few cues to let Kent catch on. By the second, they were almost moving in sync. By the third, she said, “You’re a quick learner.”

“Or maybe there’s someone with a dancing superpower here,” Kent said.

The Shade stared at him to gauge if he was joking or not. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I had a feeling there was something off about you when we first met. You’ve gotten better, but it’s still obvious sometimes. You’re different. You don’t like a lot of common foods. Sometimes you phrase things strangely. And you have an incredibly bizarre accent—”

“I’m from Las Vegas,” Kent said, part of the cover story he’d been thinking.

“I know what a Las Vegas accent sounds like, and that is—not quite. You sound like someone took the worst parts of Quebecois, New York, and west coast accents and created a Frankenstein tongue to speak,” she said.

He faltered. “Huh.”

“I don’t care where you’re from,” she said. “I know some of us like to think that knowing our backgrounds tells a lot about us. But I disagree. You get to know a person in battle. And here’s the thing: I’ve met a lot of heroes, all around the world. And some of them—I know _villains_ I’d rather fight side by side with if the world was ending. Because in the end, it’s not about who your past says you are. It’s about what you do in the heat of the moment.”

Kent was quiet, losing enough attention for the Shade to spin and dip him. “You sound like Tater,” he said as he stood back up.

“Because we’re right,” the Shade said. She turned abruptly and began to dance with Shitty. Oh. So they were done. Kent turned to depart, only for Nobody to corner him.

“Hey, you can’t stop dancing now. You need to do it before everyone’s too drunk to remember how to avoid feet,” he joked as he grabbed Kent’s hands. “I see you’ve taken my advice. How’s it going with Tater?”

When Nobody smiled, he reminded Kent of his father. It’d been a long time since he’d seen his father. Guilt flooded his stomach as he thought about how well he was getting along with the Tater. “It’s fine,” he said neutrally.

Nobody’s lips quirked, and he glanced at the Tater, who was dancing with a child, who giggled each time the Tater spun him around. The Tater glanced over at Kent and smiled. “This is good, isn’t it? You’ll be a shoo-in for the team. Of course, we have to convince Captain Canada,” he scoffed.

Kent furrowed his brow. “You don’t like him?”

“He’s… very rigid in his views,” Nobody shrugged. “We all have our own opinions on how this team should be run. And he’s not eager to let more people into the club.”

“I got the sense,” Kent said.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine. He may pitch a fit, but if George is good with it, I think you’ll be official soon,” Nobody assured.

Kent nodded. “That’s… good.”

“It is. You—” Nobody stopped short, looking over Kent’s shoulder. Kent turned.

“I should cut in,” Captain Canada said gruffly, ice blue eyes glaring from behind his mask. When Kent was sixteen, he’d thought Captain Canada was the hottest of all the superheroes of the twenty-first century. Sometimes he wanted to slap himself for his taste.

“Have at it,” Nobody said, slapping Kent’s back before he darted off.

“You want to dance?” Kent asked. 

Captain Canada mumbled something that must have been assent because he took Kent’s hands again. “I don’t trust you,” he said. “You’re here for reasons you’re not telling us.”

“I want to be a superhero,” Kent said. Captain Canada was a harsh dancer, but he was fun to dance with. Kent thought he could learn easily how to meet him step for step. Across the room, he caught the eye of a small man, glowering with dark eyes. Something about him looked familiar.

“But that’s not all,” Captain Canada protested.

Kent shrugged. “We all have personal lives,” he said. “What about Eric Bi—?”

Captain Canada spun around quickly to stare at the small man, a strange look on his face. “We’re not talking about that.”

“Then we’re not talking about me,” Kent said.

Captain Canada glowered for the rest of the song. Finally, as the music died, he said, “Tater trusts you. Don’t make him wrong.”

For the next song, Kent was commandeered by the Beaver and the Eagle, the Sharkman for the next, until he was being passed around guest by guest. 

“Is my turn!” the Tater cried at the end of yet another song, grabbing Kent by the waist and tugging him backward. “I wait all night for dance with Ace. So busy!”

The person Kent had been dancing with gave musical laugh and grinned. “You two are cute,” they said, biting their lip and winking. “My name’s Avery. Check the guestlist for my number. Either of you. Both of you. I’m good with anything.”

Kent saved his laughter until Avery left. What a notion. Kent and Alexei Mashkov. A Parson and the Tater. Yeah, right.

“Why you laugh? I am good dancer,” the Tater pouted. He wasn’t. He stepped on Kent’s feet and mostly wobbled back and forth. He was impressive to children out of his sheer size and ability to pull off dips and swings, but as far as actual steps went—

“Sorry, buddy, but this is not—”

“Ah, I know,” the Tater sighed. “But is fine. I am dance with you, which is good, yes? Am happy.”

Kent’s brows knit together. There was a strange look on the Tater’s face. “Yeah… this is more fun than I thought it would be,” he admitted.

The Tater’s face lit up, his crooked smile resurging. “Yes?”

Kent opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. The Tater lowered his head. Kent froze.

“Ace, I—” The Tater’s eyes were closed, and his head was still coming. 

Kent searched the room until he grasped the Shade’s powers. He dropped through the floor into his bedroom above the coffee shop.

“Welcome home!” Nursey called from the other room.

Kent’s throat tightened, and he bowed his head.

Alexei Mashkov was going to kiss him. At the charity ball, as two superheroes, in front of everyone. And Kent had fled. He could have said no. He’d never had a problem saying his thoughts before. But—

Kent had wanted to kiss him too. 

He let out a deep breath and buried his face in his hands. Okay. So maybe Alexei wasn’t as bad as the Parsons’ version of history had portrayed him. But the fact remained that he’d been the one to turn Nobody in for supposed theft. Which meant he was still an enemy. But why would he frame Nobody? Kent didn’t understand. They seemed to be friends, at least superficially. And Alexei had such a staunch view of morality. He wouldn’t betray someone like that out of the blue.

Unless he was tricked.

Yeah, that had to be it. Kent had finally cracked the riddle. He wasn’t here only to save Nobody from the frame job. He had to find the person who framed him as well. Piece of squashloaf.


	8. Issue #8: Present Tense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally reaching the good bits in the story. I love time travel, and I wish I could have used it more extensively in this story. Of course, I have very staunch views on how time travel should work, so it takes a lot to please me anyway. Hope you enjoy!

Alexei didn’t mention the almost-kiss when they went out again. He shot Kent a short message about where to meet, and they ate dinner (kebabs from Alexei’s third-favorite food truck) on a rooftop while scouting for crime. When they had an early morning session that weekend, Kent brought two cups of coffee (even if Alexei’s hardly qualified as coffee). They had their routine settled in a week, and in two, Kent was even more convinced that it was impossible for Alexei to be the mastermind behind the end of Jude Parson’s hero career. Someone else was involved, and Kent would uncover that.

“How you not like ice cream?” Alexei gasped in horror as they walked along the sidewalk towards Alexei’s latest attempt at convincing Kent about the virtues of sweets. “Everybody like ice cream!”

“I like ice cream,” Kent said. “Just with less sugar.” It was a little strange to walk around with Alexei in civilian clothes, but Alexei had insisted on it this time. Kent wasn’t sure why.

“Bah. You like this place, I am sure,” Alexei said. He held the door open to a little bakery, where a small blond man stood behind the counter. He looked up with a big smile, though the look in his eyes became icy when he caught sight of Kent. 

Ah. Eric Bittle.

“Alexei, dear, what can I do for you?” Eric Bittle asked, determinedly ignoring Kent.

“Surprise for me! And for friend. Kent is stubborn. Not like too sweet, but everything too sweet. I tell him you are solution!” Alexei said, patting the counter appreciatively.

Eric scrutinized Alexei’s face. Whatever he found made him turn to Kent with a much warmer smile. “Of course! I’ll get you something good, no worries about that. Any friend of Alexei’s is a friend of mine.” He winked before turning around to dig through the cabinet.

Kent leaned into Alexei. “That’s the man Cap—”

“Yes, yes, little Eric. But shh, he not know who we are,” Alexei whispered.

Kent shrugged and straightened back up. Eric stepped to the counter, two pastry bags in hand. “Here you go. That’ll be $6.40,” he said.

Alexei stepped forward to pay. Kent didn’t protest. Alexei could be stubborn, and sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing. With their snacks in hand, they walked out the door and back down the street.

“Is good, yes?” Alexei asked with wide eyes. “Pastry?”

Kent took a bite. “Not bad,” he admitted. A little sweeter than he liked, even still, but it had a nice mix of savory in it. 

Alexei grinned a little wider. “Come, I show you favorite bookshop. You still new to city. Need to know all best places,” he argued as he grabbed Kent by the elbow. Kent laughed and followed him along, tossing the empty pastry bag in the trash.

For half a second afterward, he wondered—why had Eric glared at him if he wasn’t supposed to know them as heroes? But he brushed that aside. Clearly it wasn’t his issue. If that problem ever came to head, it would be someone else’s problem.

* * *

After an all-nighter, Alexei dragged Kent back to the Falconers’ base. “Is my fault it take so long,” he said. “I buy you breakfast, yes?”

Kent wanted to protest that it _wasn’t_ Alexei’s fault. He couldn’t have predicted how deep the operation had gone. He couldn’t have predicted that they would have check each room to make sure no victims remained. But Alexei was tired and determined, and when he looked at Kent with those soft brown eyes, Kent saw that he didn’t just want to make it up to him. He didn’t want to be alone. 

Kent understood. He didn’t want to either. He didn’t have a shift at the coffee shop, so he wasn’t due back. “Let’s eat breakfast together,” he agreed.

While Alexei headed to grab their food, Kent saved a seat in the cafeteria, stretching out in his chair. He considered propping his feet in the other when the chair squeaked against the floor, and he surged up.

“Tate— Oh.”

Captain Canada took a seat across from him. “I have something to say to you,” he said.

Kent raised a brow expectantly. Finally, Captain Canada coughed, like he’d only just realized Kent was waiting. “You— You’re not so bad,” he said. “I still don’t like you. I don’t like that you won’t give us enough information to find you. But your work is impeccable. Even Tater says so, and he’s the one who was most suspicious of you.”

That shot through Kent’s stomach. He brushed it aside. They’d gotten past that now. They were friends. Kent still needed to find the culprit for whatever was coming, but he didn’t need to worry about Alexei. “He’s a good guy. And he’s seen the light,” he replied.

“Maybe,” Captain Canada said. “I’m not sure he wasn’t right to begin with. You may be in it for the glory. But if you are, at least you’re doing your job right.”

Kent faltered. In it for the glory?

“I’m not in— I want to be a hero. I want to help people,” he protested.

Captain Canada nodded. “That’s what you say. And Tater said if you were up to no good, he’d expose you. That was why he volunteered. To keep an eye on you—”

“What?” Kent breathed. But that wasn’t right. Alexei had agreed to help him because he could tell that Kent _wanted_ to be a hero. Sure, he hadn’t known that before, but things were different now. Weren’t they?

“He wasn’t sure for a long time. He always said he thought there was something off about you. I don’t know what he saw, but he says he can make you a real hero. Someone just needed to pull it out of you,” Captain Canada continued. Kent wasn’t listening.

He didn’t _want_ to be angry. He didn’t want to change his mind again. After all, it wasn’t so bad if Alexei had been keeping an eye on him. Was it?

All this time. Hanging out with him outside of work. Was that getting to know each other? Or was that Alexei trying to get Kent to slip outside of the uniform?

“Okay, I get eggs, but eggs always little salty here— Oh, Captain. Hm. I not get enough breakfast for three,” Alexei mused, setting the tray down on the table. “You want I go back?”

Captain Canada shook his head. “Nah. I was just talking to Ace about a few things. I’ll see you at the next weekly meeting?” There were meetings? Why hadn’t Kent been invited? He was invited to the ball. Surely if they were going to let him on the team, he would have at least known—

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir!” Alexei said, giving a dumb salute that shouldn’t have been endearing. It wasn’t endearing because—

Because that was what he did. Kent was a fool to think that he wouldn’t have fallen prey to the same trap as Jude. There was a reason someone was able to frame him, and that could only come from someone so disarming. Who else would be able to leave such an impeccable trap? He’d heard the story a million times from his mother. Nobody had been a true hero. The Tater must have been the one trying to cover his tracks. He must have been good at it if history had never brought his crimes to light.

Kent’s stomach flipped. “I’m leaving,” he said.

“But breakfast,” Alexei said, furrowing his brow. The sweetness of his expression made Kent’s stomach sick.

“I’m leaving,” Kent said. “I’m done with this team shit. I quit.”

“Ah—wha—?” Alexei stared, looking baffled, but Kent didn’t care. He’d let himself get distracted. He’d come to the past for a reason, and he was going to fix things. 

If history wouldn’t vindicate Nobody on its own, Kent would find a way to make it bend to the truth.

* * *

In two weeks, the newspapers would have a startling new headline: Nobody Unmasked: The Truth About Jude Parson. There were variations on that, of course, but that was the only article Kent’s family had saved. When this article, or the many others like it, hit the stands, it would be the end of any future Parson superheroes: for Erika Parson, with elasticity; for Mel Parson, with power-echoing; and for Kent himself. But if Kent did this right, he would change the course of the future for the better.

Who knew the ramifications of that? Time travel was a complicated thing. Part of him wondered if it would even be possible to change his own past; who was he, without growing up in the family he had, no opportunities to use their powers, a long-lingering bitterness towards the superhero population? Kent wouldn’t give up that easily.

Without the constraints of the Falconers, Kent had nothing to do outside of work. He took to following Jude Parson. If Alexei really had a plan, he would slip up eventually. Kent would be there to catch it. With the right proximity, Kent could borrow Jude’s power to disguise himself as anyone in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, this yielded no results. Jude Parson had a normal life. He went to work during the day, as a hygienist at his wife’s dental practice. He finished at 3, and then he would leave for his other occupation as Nobody. As Jude, he was friendly and well-liked. As Nobody, he was popular among civilians, especially with kids. Why would anyone want to ruin his life? Why would _Alexei_? After a week of surveillance, Kent still had nothing. (Deep inside, he wondered if, perhaps, Alexei wasn’t trying to frame him at all, but—)

This wouldn’t be solved the simple way. Kent would have to take matters into his own hands. On the day Samwell Laboratories would be robbed, he’d be there. He’d prove once and for all that Jude Parson was innocent, and future generations of Mashkovs would be forced to know what his family had been through.

It was the right thing to do. Even if it didn’t feel like it.


	9. Issue #9: The Notorious Nobody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samwell Laboratories was meant to be more morally ambiguous than it is here. I have a real fondness for stupid comic labs and industries, but my science brain is funneled purely into speech and language, so I didn't want to do any research. It's not that important for this story anyway.

“You’re going to work tonight, right, Kent?” Nursey asked. He’d taken an early morning shift when Nicola had called out. As if by magic, Dex was there as well, tinkering with another coffee machine. Either Nursey was very good at destroying equipment or Dex was making excuses now. Kent thought it could be either.

“I’m scheduled,” Kent replied. He’d packed his suit in a bag to put on when he got a chance, but for the time being, he was only wearing his usual twenty-first-century attire, jeans and a button-up, surprisingly comfortable. 

Nursey only hummed. He looked back at the schedule behind the register. “I’ll check and see if Hiram is available, just in case,” he murmured to himself. Kent bristled. Did Nursey think he wouldn’t show up? When had he ever done that?

“I’ll see you later,” Kent said as he threw the bag over his shoulders.

“Kent,” Nursey called. He turned around to look at him. “Don’t let yourself be caught off-guard. Things happen the way they’re meant to happen. Sometimes you need to see it for yourself.”

Kent made a quizzical expression. “Okay?”

“I’ve said my piece,” Nursey said. “Hey, Dex, something’s wrong with the register. Can you—?”

“Goddamn, Nurse, you’ve just been standing there!” Dex’s ears grew bright red as he ranted, setting his tools aside to take over the register. Kent stifled a laugh and headed out the door. It was go-time.

* * *

Samwell Laboratories was a sterile facility, full of white walls and the sort of gleaming, eye-piercing shininess that permeated the early twenty-first century. Underneath the neon red and white _SAMWELL LABS_ , in small white letters read _from the depths of the well of knowledge_ , something that didn’t sit easy in Kent’s stomach. Perhaps that was merely a feeling of what was to come. Kent would help Jude Parson go free, as he deserved to. But Alexei Mashkov would be charged with his crimes. 

As he deserved to be. Unless someone else was involved, the only person who could be trying to rob Samwell was Alexei, the only other person present. Kent could admit that he almost wanted someone else to be there. If someone else was involved, then it wasn’t Alexei’s fault that Jude Parson was framed. But Alexei was still the one who forced Kent to let his guard down. He was the one who told Kent he wanted to help him while quietly reporting to the rest of the team that he thought Kent was up to something, hiding something. (So what if he was? It wasn’t what Alexei thought at all!)

None of those thoughts would help him now. He only had one goal left. 

If Sophie were there, Kent could have borrowed her invisibility powers to slip into the build. As it was, he could only use his visor to float to the underside of the awning, watching as various employees walked into the building. They all had ID cards. Interesting. So not just anyone could get in.

If a third person was involved, it was someone who worked there. 

No. Kent couldn’t do that. The only people involved for sure were Jude and Alexei. That was where his focus needed to be. 

He watched another figure approach, a young man with jet black hair and large ears. He reached out to swipe his ID card. The scanner clicked. He stepped forward. No ID was in his hand. Kent squinted until he saw the dark lines. Oh. Bingo.

It was Nobody. 

Borrowing Nobody’s powers wasn’t easy, especially for delicate work like this. Kent had never had an opportunity to practice with his abilities before, but he had no time to waste. He shifted into a random form, the first one he could think of: Harry, the landlord. Using the same ID card pattern he could sense from Nobody, he slid his own hand past the scanner and rushed inside, ducking into a dark corner and floating back to the ceiling. Focus, he told himself. Find Nobody. Kent could sense his powers somewhere. Kent followed him down the hall. The corridors were surprisingly empty for a workday. Unless this was usual. Kent wasn’t sure. But the lack of security explained why the prototype had been stolen so easily. 

Nobody continued moving down the hall until he reached a door. He waved his hand across the scanner again, and the door clicked open. Kent sped up to slip in behind him.

Why had Nobody come here anyway? The story he’d heard from his mother had always been clear: Nobody had received a tip about the Welly prototype, and he’d gone to investigate. But why like that? To avoid suspicion?

Nobody leaped over the barriers into the center of the room. A glowing bronze orb awaited on top of the table. Nobody reached for it.

The table was metal. A bolt surged from the tabletop to the underside of Nobody’s arm. He tensed and fell backward.

“So this is it,” the Tater said. He stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the room. “Is true. You come here to steal.”

No, Kent thought. Nobody came here to _stop_ a theft. The Tater had to be the real thief. He was the only one there.

Nobody lifted his head. “Come on, Tater,” he said in a low drawl. “Don’t pretend you’ve never wanted to cash in.”

“You sell prototype to Phelps—”

“Ha! It doesn’t even work.”

The Tater’s face grew grim. The darkness of his mask shadowed his eyes more heavily. “Is prototype. They make work. Samwell figure out here, but if you give—Phelps figure out and have. Is same as giving weapon.”

Nobody shrugged and pushed himself back to his feet. “They’ll figure out how to make it one way or another,” he said. “I’m just making sure I get my cut.”

“No,” the Tater said. He held his hand out, the current crackling through his fingers. “You will not.”

Nobody didn’t break his confidence. He lifted his chin. “How did you know I was here?”

The Tater faltered, considering whether to answer the question. “Alarm,” he said. “ID scan twice. Like someone make copy. Is automatic, alert security. They call Falconers.”

“Impossible. I made that ID. I’m the only one who uses it,” Nobody murmured.

 _Fuck._ Kent was the one who got his ancestor caught. He was the one who called the Tater to the crime scene.

But Nobody was the one who’d committed the crime after all.

“Hm. Maybe you scan twice,” the Tater shrugged. “Maybe is fate. But I know is over.”

“I don’t think so,” Nobody said. He pulled out a gun.

A water gun. If the charge in the air wasn’t so crackling, Kent would have laughed. But as he watched Nobody cock the gun, something sunk in. That wasn’t just a gun. It reminded him of something, something he’d seen in the Museum of Superheroics every year. A hydroelectric gun. Its bullets used a special kind of bond to manipulate water and electricity, an effective defense against electrical powers. The one Kent remembered wouldn’t be perfect for many years. Early models were so unstable, likely fatal.

The Tater only increased the voltage flowing through his hand. They were squaring up. If the Tater hit first, there was a chance the gun would misfire and kill Nobody. If Nobody got his shot, the Tater could be killed.

Kent remembered that no one died in this battle. He couldn’t make sense of that. He only saw two men standing across from each other, prepared to make their moves.

“No!” he tried, tumbling down from his hiding space. Two bangs hit at once. On his left side, he tried to mimic the Tater, absorb the electricity, reroute it, use it. On his right side, he tried to mimic Nobody, shifting his body into someone, _something_ that would let him survive this. 

His knees hit the floor, and he toppled over.

“Ace!” the Tater cried. Another thud against the floor.

“Huh,” Nobody said. 

Kent convulsed, unable to move his fingers. He stared at the wall. A flash of the Tater’s uniform zipped by him. Another thud. Nobody against the wall.

“You shoot him! You hurt him!”

“He got between us,” Nobody said evenly. “You hurt him too. But that’s not our fault. You know, we could put this on him. You already told everyone he’s suspicious. It’d be easy. We both get away clean.”

What would his mother say if she knew about this? Would she be disappointed in who Nobody really was: a thief, a coward? Kent wished he could laugh. No. She’d be more concerned about Kent and his demerits. Not that he’d get demerits from this. No, he’d be going to worse than a tribunal. 

“How dare you—?” the Tater growled, pushing him up a little higher. Kent ached. He sat up. 

“No,” he said softly. “Tater, don’t.”

The Tater didn’t lower Nobody. He turned his head over his shoulder. “Ace,” he said, in a soft, confused voice that made Kent feel sick. Kent wanted to hate him. It was all still true: He had thought Kent was suspicious. He’d played both sides, told Kent he was helping when he was really judging. But truth be told, wasn’t that the smart thing to do? Wasn’t that how teams avoided infiltrators? And hadn’t he been right?

If the Tater hadn’t been there, wouldn’t Kent have let Nobody get away?

“You have him,” Kent croaked. “Just… turn him in. You have your proof. And don’t tell anyone I was here.”

“Ace,” the Tater repeated. Behind him, Nobody stared at Kent appraisingly. Kent reached for his visor and fiddled around until he found the right moment. 

Coming back here had been a horrible idea. He wanted to go home.


	10. Issue #10: Past Tense

The clock on the visor read 13:49. Kent had left at 13:45. Four minutes of his life gone. Four months of his life gone.

The alarms in the museum echoed. These were audible. The ones at Samwell weren’t. Kent had screwed up. He’d done the right thing.

“You should probably put those back,” a voice called. Kent turned around. A woman in a suit stood behind him, sharp eyes and reddish-brown hair with black roots. “You can’t take them home.”

Kent swallowed and pulled the visor from his face.

“Who are you?” he asked. 

The woman smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just put the visor down and go home.”

Kent stared. The woman stared back. 

“Are you going to arrest me?” he asked.

She laughed. “No. Go home. I already told you. You’re done. You can go home.”

“Who are you?” Kent repeated.

“No one you need to worry about. Go home, Kent Parson,” she said again, a little more firmly now.

Kent wanted to argue, but he got the sense it would be a bad idea. Fine. If he had a chance to get out of this unscathed, he owed that to his family. He set the visor down on one of the stands and walked outside.

Home sweet home. 

He checked his messages on the way. Nothing. For a second, it stung. In all that time, no one had said a thing. But it hadn’t been any time for any of them. No one would know.

Neither his mom nor Robert was home when he arrived. Sophie was still in school as well. Kent pulled up his messages again. Jeff would be in school, but he’d get out soon. Kent could tell him—

No. That was a bad idea. He couldn’t put his family at risk. No one could ever know. His family would keep living their lie. Kent would bear the knowledge alone.

* * *

Life returned to normal. When his family slowly trickled in, they reminded Kent that it was his day to handle dinner, and he fell into the distraction. He went to sleep early and left for school on time the next morning. Classes were still boring as he approached graduation. Jeff noticed something was wrong by the first afternoon, and he tried to cheer Kent up by taking him for frozen fruit. Kent went along, but he thought back to the ice cream he’d shared with the Tater. Frozen fruit wasn’t as sugary. He liked frozen fruit better.

He wanted ice cream.

“Whatever happened,” Jeff said as they threw the sticks away, “if you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool. But I’m here for you, Kent.”

Jeff was a good friend. Kent had hardly thought about him in the four months he’d been gone—what a busy four months—but he was a good friend.

“You’re going to be the best superheroics equipment designer,” Kent said.

Jeff quirked his brow. “You’re acting funny,” he warned. “But thanks. I hope I will. You decided what you want to do?”

Kent’s stomach dropped, and he shrugged. Before Jeff could open his mouth, he said, “I— I know what I want. But it’s not possible.”

Jeff grew quiet. “You look like you’re in love,” he prodded, careful as he would be with a jumpy cat. In all their years of friendship, Kent had never really kept a romantic relationship. What experience he had, he’d told Jeff the day after. They’d always shared those details on the spot. Guilt twisted inside of Kent. He couldn’t tell Jeff about this one, and that was already changing things.

“If I am, it doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “Jeff—I don’t want to talk about it, but I promise it’s nothing you need to know.”

Jeff patted his shoulder, and they began to walk home, the weight of the future settling.

* * *

Two days left. The regular professor of Class 22-A droned on in lectures that didn’t matter much before their final exams. Around him, Kent watched as his classmates played games and drew pictures and everything graduating students did as they waited for the rest of their lives. Even Jeff had relaxed, chatting in the back of the room with Lillian. (Good for him, Kent thought. Only took him about fifteen years.)

Kent, on the other hand, explored the Museum of Superheroics.

He hadn’t gotten to know his fellow Falconers well enough. They were funny. They were interesting. They were real. The words on the website didn’t do enough to explain who they were, why they worked as a superhero team. Those were the things that were lost to history. It was sad, Kent thought. That was what really mattered. If someone wanted to learn what made a superhero tick, wasn’t it more about who they were than what they accomplished?

The Tater’s page was the saddest of all.

_The Tater_

_Born Alexei Mikhailovich Mashkov in Chelyabinsk, Russia, the Tater was raised primarily by his maternal grandmother, of whom he spoke very fondly. He acquired his powers during a storm in his home village. He soon began a life as a hero in the city before he eventually moved to Providence to join the Falconers, where he remained for the rest of his life._

It told nothing of how passionate he was to care for everyone in the city. It told nothing about the tragedy of his powers. Worst of all, it told nothing of his future—the future Kent hadn’t gotten to see. Had he married? Had he had children? Was he happy? With everything lost to time, Kent would never know.

He tried to ignore the ache in his stomach. He turned his tablet upside down and paid attention to his professor.

* * *

On the final day of classes, students were to determine the rest of their lives. No pressure, really. Waiting in line at the graduation booth, Kent chatted with his fellow classmates, a strange sense of camaraderie in his gut. Jeff was still determined to become an equipment designer. Lillian had plans to work on prostheses that could still generate innate superpowers. Even Lyra had a decent plan.

One by one, his classmates stepped into the booth, made three choices in order, and they would await their results from home. And step by step, Kent felt the weight of his own indecision grow heavier. Finally, Jeff stepped out and patted Kent’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said, something that struck a string in Kent’s heart. “You want to come with Lillian and me to get a drink?”

Lillian shot him a look that said she did not want him to come. Kent cracked a smile. “I’m supposed to celebrate with my family, but thanks. We’ll catch up some other time. You two have fun.”

Kent moved in behind them. The screen was bright, with harsh blue light that stained his face. He scanned the options, mind blank. Nothing seemed right. How long did he have to choose again?

“Kent? Are you okay?” he heard someone call from outside.

He swallowed and took a breath. Keep looking. 

As he’d expected, _superheroics_ was grayed out. But he didn’t want second best with _equipment designer_. What he wanted—

What he wanted was to see Alexei again. He’d work in a coffee shop for the rest of his life if he could only see Alexei.

A strange box caught his eye at the bottom.

_Museum of Superheroics—See Clara Wattana_

He selected the option before he could think better of it. The screen flickered, and the other options disappeared. He blinked and stumbled out.

“Big decision, huh?” his professor asked with a smile. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said. Clara Wattana. Was that the woman he’d met? 

“You always were a bright young man. I think you were too bored in school. You need something more stimulating,” the professor continued. “My wife agrees. They have your sister in class, and she’s the same way.”

Kent nodded. “Ha. Uh. Maybe she’ll do better than me, not getting demerits.”

The professor cracked a smile. “Goodbye, Kent.”

“Bye,” he said briefly. He turned and walked away. The Museum. He had to get there.

The Museum was dark when he arrived, which was strange. Normally the building was lit up in neon lights, reminiscent of the old Las Vegas Strip. Yet the doors opened for Kent when he approached. He stepped inside. The woman he’d seen before waited on one of the chairs.

“Kent Parson,” she said with a smile. “Take a seat.”

He stood still. She stared until he finally moved.

“You’re Clara Wattana?”

“That’s right,” she said. “I was wondering how this was going to go. Glad to see it didn’t take you too long.”

“What are you talking about?” Kent asked.

Clara smiled. She adjusted her bright red headband and thumbed through her tablet. “You want to return to the past, right?”

Kent stared. “Are you a mindreader? Is that your thing?”

Clara raised a brow and scoffed. “No,” she said a little sharper now. “No. My power is boring. Probability detection. But that’s not why you’re here anyway.”

“Why am I here?” he asked.

Clara reached into her bag and pulled out a visor—his visor. “This is yours,” she said.

Kent blinked. “I’m not allowed to be a superhero,” he said.

“Not now,” she agreed. “But in the twenty-first century, you were.”

“I was,” Kent repeated.

“Don’t you wonder why no one stopped you from traveling the first time?” Clara asked. “You’re not stupid enough to believe that you could haven’t been stopped. Your plan wasn’t near foolproof.”

Kent decided not to tell her that he had believed that.

“What happens is always meant to happen. There’s a reason time travel isn’t something extensively studied or permitted. There are only a few reasons someone should time travel. This is one of them.” She handed him her tablet, and he stared at a copy of an ancient handwritten letter.

_The Ace was most beautiful man in the world. Compassionate, powerful, vibrant—no other superhero compares.  
_

She snatched it back before he could read more. “This is one of very few mentions of the Ace,” she said. “It took a lot of investigating over the years to determine who this strange figure was meant to be.”

“It was me,” Kent said.

Clara nodded, unimpressed. “I can’t let you see anymore. Too many risks. But you understand that your first trip was something that needed to happen. And so is this one.” She gestured at the visor. 

Kent glanced down at his fingers through the golden lenses. “Am I being banished or whatever?”

“No,” Clara scoffed. “You’re free to come and go as you please. Though, for your family’s sake, you’d be wise to listen to me and fill out some paperwork. Officially, you’ll work for my department in the government. But you can return to the twenty-first century and live your life the way you choose.”

“What am I supposed to do there?”

“You think I’m going to tell you? Get real. Figure it out like the rest of us.”

Kent let out a deep breath. An ache in his chest loosened. “I can still visit my family?”

“You can,” she confirmed. “You’ll have my contact details. We’ll handle little cover stories, determine what they’re allowed to know. You can even visit friends. You’re not forbidden from being here. But you’ve already made your choice. There’s no future for you in the present.”

“You sound so sure of that,” he said skeptically. 

Clara smirked. “I know what I’m talking about. Follow me. I don’t like letting paperwork build up.”

* * *

Time travel was not an exact science. Though Kent had landed four minutes later when he’d returned to the present, when he returned to the twenty-first century, it had been two months. He managed to land in Nursey’s apartment, a small blessing—very small, as Nursey and Dex jerked away from each other.

“What the fuck? I thought you were gone!” Dex’s face slowly grew as red as his hair. Nursey was more relaxed, though even he looked a bit put out.

“I didn’t mean—” Kent faltered. “I’m going to go—”

“Wait,” Nursey said. “I was wondering when you’d get back. You’re going to be staying for good?”

Kent nodded slowly. “How do you know that?”

Nursey shrugged. “Hey, you’re not the only person with powers. I saw what I needed to see, did what I had to do. Things have happened the way they were meant to.”

Kent stared. “You have foresight?”

“I like to call it being a seer,” Nursey said. “It’s not exactly useful, but it does make it easy to go with the flow.”

“That explains so much,” Dex murmured behind him, his eyes slowly narrowing into daggers.

“I still should go,” Kent said.

“You should,” Dex agreed.

“Yeah, that’s fine. You can come back tomorrow,” Nursey said. “I’ll have Dex make you some paperwork. You’ll be an average citizen of the USA.”

Kent wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But it was necessary, wasn’t it? “Sure,” he agreed absently. “I gotta go. You two… have fun.” He headed out the window, as that seemed the easiest solution, and he flew out without aim. He didn’t know where to go. The Falconers HQ? Who knew if the Tater would be there at all?

He was being rash again. He flew down to a nearby sidewalk. _Bitty’s Best._ That was Eric Bittle’s bakery. He faltered. Alexei had loved this place. His throat tightened.

“Ace?”

Kent blinked. Alexei Mashkov stood in the door of the bakery, the bell jingling above his head. Behind him, Eric Bittle stood at the counter, amused.

“Ta— Alexei,” Kent replied.

Alexei trembled. “We… talk. Somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Kent agreed. 

“You want change?” Alexei asked softly, trying to avoid catching anyone’s gaze. He grabbed Kent’s hand and tugged him inside.

“You two can step into the back,” Eric Bittle offered. “For some privacy?”

Alexei nodded, too frantic to do otherwise. He squeezed Kent’s hand and pulled him along a little faster. The backroom door slammed behind them, and Alexei threw himself around Kent without hesitation.

“Am so sorry,” he whispered. “You disappear, and you are hurt, and I— I not know what happen. Where you go? You are okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Kent assured.

“Where you been?” Alexei asked again.

Kent swallowed. “That’s a long story. I want to tell you everything. But, um… you know, I don’t actually have a place to stay tonight,” he admitted. “Can we go to your place? You’ll get the full story. I swear.”

Alexei hesitated. Finally, he nodded. They ducked out the back door, where Kent flew overhead, following Alexei to his apartment.

* * *

The story was long, as Kent had promised. He spoke for an hour, divulging the details: his full name, the future, Jude Parson’s role, even Kent’s plan. 

“You think I am bad enough to sabotage career of teammate?” Alexei asked. He kept glancing at the visor on the kitchen table where they sat. Alexei had offered Kent a change of clothes, and now they both sat in local hockey team t-shirts and sweats. It was strange to wear these clothes again, even looser than normal twenty-first-century clothes. 

Of course, it was worth it, for the way Alexei looked at him from the other side of the table.

“I didn’t know you,” Kent said. “And once I did—I was wrong, Alexei. So wrong. Nobody—” He faltered. “He really was a criminal.”

“So is why you leave?”

Kent huffed out a laugh, sad and bitter. “I’d always planned to go home. But I’d thought things would be different. I could be a superhero.”

“But you cannot,” Alexei said.

Kent nodded. “Not there. And… and not here, really. There isn’t much information on the Ace in the future. I can’t be a big name. Not like you. Not… Not part of the Falconers.”

Alexei looked a little disappointed. “I see.” He faltered. “You come back now, not for being hero? Why?”

Kent swallowed. He looked at Alexei’s face. That smile. Those eyes. His slightly goofy nose. His heart clenched. “You,” he admitted. 

Alexei lit up. “Me?” he asked breathlessly. “You feel—?”

“Maybe I’m crazy. Coming back here for—” He cleared his throat. “I think I can have a future here. And if you want me in yours—”

“Yes,” Alexei said. “Yes.”

Kent looked at the visor on the table. He pushed it to the side and dove across the table to kiss the Tater.

* * *

Many facts about the Falconers were lost to time. But in the twenty-first century, plenty was known about Kent Parson.

At twenty-two, he became a rookie player for the local hockey team. At twenty-four, he was traded to Las Vegas Aces; though he was sad to leave, he said he felt very comfortable as an Ace. At twenty-six, he became captain. At twenty-eight, he married Alexei Mashkov, a Russian immigrant. They had three children and lived happily ever after.

The Ace was only spotted a few more times throughout the ages. The Tater had a long and prosperous heroic career.

One of the Tater’s letters to his husband eventually made its way to the Museum of Superheroics in Las Vegas. Everything happened as it was meant to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I place my author's notes about the beginning, but since this is the end of the fic (and to celebrate the end of Check Please), I feel this is fitting. Thanks to Ngozi for all her hard work on the comic. Thanks to mods of Going Out With A Big Bang for putting this together. Thanks to SexyDexyNurse for working on such beautiful art. (I'll link it in the first chapter.) I love participating in bangs, and this was a great one to be a part of.
> 
> The end of this comic is really a lot for me, especially as I'm graduating this semester as well. I'm sure everyone knows this is a really hectic time, so it's nice to have these little bright spots in our lives. I hope everyone is doing well, and try to stay safe!
> 
> In case you're wanting notes on the actual fic: I had to sneak Clara into this fic. She's one of my fave OCs, and I was really pleasantly surprised by a few people commenting on how much they liked her. I didn't want to shoehorn her into the fic too much, but it made me happy to have her around. As for the others, I do have vague ideas about what happens to the other members of the Falconers (and, honestly, even some ideas for more Kent and Tater) in this verse, and I could probably be convinced to write more. That being said, for now, assume everyone has a happy ending eventually! They'll get there! As always, my tumblr is @spideylovesgwendy, and thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Past Tensions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546715) by [ArtbyDenois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtbyDenois/pseuds/ArtbyDenois)




End file.
